Duckpocalypse Now
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: Set after The Building Blocks of Good and Evil. SPN S6. While on an ordinary hunt, Sam and Dean find themselves pulled into an unusual circumstance. They arrive in St. Canard and meet Darkwing and co. just in time for the main event: another attempt at an apocalypse.
1. Then

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Darkwing Duck, Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or any related characters. DW belongs to Disney, SPN belongs to Kripke, and Buffy belongs to Whedon. For fun only.  
 **Author's Notes:** *laughs evilly* I am the chosen one! I, alone, have the power to take this plot seriously! *laughs evilly a bit more* Okay, but seriously, this is set in the same universe as The Building Blocks of Good and Evil, and it's set in between that story and its sequel, Devil You Don't Know. Although this is technically a three-way crossover between Darkwing Duck, Supernatural, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it is mostly between Darkwing Duck and Supernatural. Anything you don't know about what happened in Building Blocks will be revealed here. You won't need to read the other story, and you won't really need to know too much about the Buffy universe. I'll reveal everything you need to know. That being said, enjoy!

* * *

 **Then**

The demon hissed against the rain of holy water, following it with a chuckle of bravado he had no right to have. Dean rolled his eyes, looking back at Sam.

"Okay, look, a part of me is beginning to wonder if you like this," Dean huffed.

The demon—who had been very careful to give no name... even that of the meatsuit he was wearing—grinned up at him. The demon—or rather, his meatsuit—was a dark-haired man who was bleeding from a cut somewhere in his hairline. Blood trickled out of the rather large nose on his face, and he kept his grin trained up at the Winchester brothers. His blue eyes flashed, and for a minute, both boys would have sworn they were an eerie, acid green instead of the blues of his suit-or the black or yellow or red of the usual demon.

"I would find it enjoyable," he said, his voice alternating between high and whining and low and gruff—like a piece of chalk on the blackboard while the teacher wrote away, "if you boys would liven it up a little more. Come on, kids. I can take it."

Sam looked sick, and he flipped open John Winchester's journal.

"Look, we know that you're all buddy-buddy with Yellow Eyes," Sam said. "We know you're helping him out with whatever his plan is with all the children he marked."

The demon laughed, roaring. Shaking his head, he reduced himself to demented chuckles.

"Such children," he muttered. Louder, he added, "You have no idea what his plans—our plans—are. No clue. You could never comprehend the outcome to this design. This is the big one, kiddies."

"'Our plans?'" Dean repeated, leaning back in the old wooden chair that had been already in the shack of a house they now occupied. "Think pretty highly of yourself, don't you? But you see, what I think is... you're a patsy. Yellow Eyes knew we were close, and he threw you to us as bait. You're nothing but a worm on a hook."

The demon laughed again, but it was noticeably less joyful. "Children, children, children... what shall ever become of the children?"

"Dean," Sam said, approaching the edge of the Devil's Trap they had their catch situated in, "I don't think we're going to get anything out of this one."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, Sammy, you're right. Let's get this over with."

The demon's eyes flashed that eerie green again as he screamed at them, "No! NO!"

But Sam had already flipped open John's journal, reading over the demon's many protests.

" _Deus, et Pater Domini nostril jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et clementiam taum supplex exposco_."

"Fools! Both of you!" the demon screeched as it began to writhe and wriggle against its holds, safely kept within a devil's trap.

"Should've talked," Dean shrugged.

Sam kept reading, " _ut adversus hunc, et omnen immundum spiritum, qui vexat hoc plasma tuum_."

Something was off. Something big. Sam and Dean had gone up against several demons since discovering that it was such a creature that was the cause of their mother's—and Jessica's—death. And in that time, they had also done their fair share of exorcisms. They were always rough on the host, the demon inside the body flailing and clawing trying to stay topside. But this was different. The chair the demon they had was tied to began to do its usual sliding about the devil's trap, the demon trying its best to find a weak point. But Sam was shaking. Sweat poured down the front of his face, and his limbs trembled as he continued on and on with the exorcism ritual. Dean's brow furrowed, stepping forward to put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sammy?" the older Winchester asked.

But Sam shook his head, and the demon in front of them laughed. It was a ragged laugh,

the ritual obviously doing its job. But he locked eyes with Dean nonetheless.

"Are you sure baby brother can handle it?" the demon squealed joyfully.

Dean stepped as close as possible to the devil's trap, careful not to scrap any of the paint up.

"What the hell are you doing to him? _How_ are you doing it?" he demanded.

The demon cackled, a stream of thick, black blood running down from one nostril.

"I'm powerful, _boy_ ," he said. "Much more so than dear ol' Yellow Eyes. Not your average demon… I'm capable of so much more. For example, this devil's trap? Give me five more minutes, and you'll regret whatever luck you used up in capturing me!"

However, Sam seemed to have worked through whatever it was that was affecting him. True, he was still trembling like he was suffering from a really bad fever, but his eyes had focused on the overconfident demon. Dean knew that look. He called it Sam's Stanford Face. Back when Sam had told their dad that he was going to Stanford, come Hell or high water, John had countered that there was no way.

But Stanford had been exactly where Dean had had to go to get his brother. The older Winchester grinned, jerking a thumb backward.

"Five minutes, huh? Sorry, but I think you've only got two."

It was the second round of the ritual—it was known to go to three, but two and three were rarely needed—but it finally did the trick. The poor guy's body who housed the demon went rigid, and his head tossed back. His mouth opened into a wide O, and a roar louder than any Sam and Dean had yet to hear from a demon poured out, intertwining with the thick pillar of black smoke. It burned itself into the ceiling as Sam and Dean covered their ears. Finally, the demon was gone, and Sam all but collapsed to the floor.

"Sam!" Dean said, leaning down over his brother.

The younger brother coughed, but waved Dean away. "I'm fine."

"What the hell, man?" Dean said. "What kind of demon was that?"

"I don't know."

Sam shook his head. Pulling himself upright, he gestured up at the man still tied to the chair, his head lolling about.

"Might wanna check on him," Sam murmured.

Dean let a set of worried eyes linger on his brother for a moment before complying. He pressed two fingers to the man's throat and sighed.

"He's gone."

Sam shook his head once more. "I don't think that demon was all talk."

Dean shrugged. "Well, he's gone now. Not our problem anymore. Not unless he manages to escape, but we'll be ready."

"I hope so."

#

"Arah!" the demon wailed, pounding his fist on the invisible barrier before him.

The world beyond the barrier, the Hell that Sam and Dean Winchester spent so much time fighting, was now behind his reach. Thanks to those self-righteous half-wits. And that dimension was promising to be such fun, if Azazel had his way. The demon curled his hands, pounding on the barrier once more.

"I'll kill the both of them!" he screeched, his voice so high-pitched that, had the barrier been real glass, it would have shattered. Instead, it remained aggravatingly intact.

Those stupid children. They had no idea the fun they had denied him. And if there was anything he liked, then it was good, ol' fashioned _fun_. And nothing was better for that than the Apocalypse. But now, thanks to that successful exorcism—his one weakness when it came to inhabiting all the dimensions—he wouldn't get to participate.

"Fine," he said, sighing. "If I can't take part in that Apocalypse, then I'll bring one on in another world. And make extra special sure that Sam and Dean attend."


	2. Now: In Which We Join the Present

**Chapter One: Now: In Which We Join the Present**

"This way!" Dean yelled, Sam following close behind.

It was a typical hunt in the middle of a very not typical time. Yellow Eyes was long dead, Lucifer had risen and fallen, and now their biggest worry was not Hell, but Purgatory… which, apparently, was Monsterland. But none of that was what was on the brothers' minds at the moment. No, now they were ankle-deep in a chase concerning a very pissed off shapeshifter. Like other monsters seemed to be lately, it was rather hell-bent on breeding, and this one had a thing for college-aged girls that were, frankly, way out of his league.

They had had the monster cornered, ready for the kill, when the bastard had managed to give them the slip. Of course, this "slip" had consisted of nearly knocking Dean unconscious and just as nearly breaking Sam's arm… but yeah, he had _slipped_ away. However, they had picked up his trail, which had led them here.

It was a large warehouse, which looked fairly abandoned. It towered above the boys as they rushed toward the metal, nearly floor-to-ceiling sliding doors that served as its entrance. The only visible windows of the place seemed to line up right under the overhang of the roof, which meant that as soon as Sam and Dean were inside, they pulled out their flashlights, holding it level beside the handguns they were armed with.

The moon trickled down through the window just enough to cast the shadows long, and Dean's eyes strained as he tried to find any sign of their monster. He turned to Sam, ready to see if he had seen something he had missed, but thankfully, their monster was something of a klutz. A loud crash sounded in the distance, and Dean rolled his eyes. Sam nodded in the direction of the noise, and the older Winchester had to fight hard against doing it again. Instead, he shook the barrel of the gun to signal for Sam to take the lead. Dean sighed as he fell into step behind.

A lot had happened over the past several years. A lot of people they had loved had died, Dean had gone to Hell and Heaven, Sam had gone to Heaven and Hell and had even lost his soul and gotten it back… but some things were just the same. And this, the hunt for a monster, felt like the most normal thing in the world. This was something the Winchesters could do. This was something they could handle. Guns filled with silver bullets in their hands, heading fearlessly into the recesses of a darkened, unknown place felt the same to Dean as Monday night football might seem to anyone else. It was strange, but there was some happiness here, in this strange normalcy of theirs.

Sam suddenly stopped, and Dean, lost to his own musing, almost ran into him. Not the smartest thing Dean could be doing in the middle of a shifter hunt, but he regained his composure before Sam could notice. Sam turned and pointed to a small, metal door a handful of feet in front of them. It stood slightly ajar, and a beam of yellowed light shone from beyond it. Dean nodded, and the boys spread out, with Sam taking the right of the door and Dean taking the left. Flashlights were lowered as they paused on either side, slightly doing a three-count before they both turned and burst into the new room.

The shifter—busy looking like the blond, middle-aged professor he had killed in order to get closer to his victims—whirled, snarling at them. Dean squeezed the trigger of his gun, but the shifter ducked him, rushing and shoving both his hands into Dean's chest. With an "oomph," Dean flew against the concrete wall behind him, sliding down to the dirty floor. Sam managed a few rounds, missing as new holes appeared in the wall behind the shifter. Dean lost no time getting back to his feet as Sam was now flying across the room to join his brother.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore as the shifter knocked his gun from his hands.

The shifter threw a punch, and Dean ducked it, landing a hard right-hook into his jaw. He reeled back, and Sam was back at his brother's side. Dean shook his head.

"Look, dude, respect for the college chicks… but no still means no," he quipped.

The shifter smiled. "Go to Hell."

Dean shrugged. "Been there, done that, deliberately _didn't_ get the t-shirt."

The shifter growled and launched himself at the boys again, but this time, he was a bit more reckless… or Sam's aiming had improved. One shot, right between the eyes, with a silver bullet and the Shifter went down. Dean shook his head.

"And that's that," the older brother noted.

Sam nodded. "Another one for Purgatory."

Dean cracked a grin. "You know, I just can't help but think that every time we gank a monster now."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, me too. Let's get out of here."

Dean rubbed a hand over his stomach, a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Yeah. I'm starved. You know, that diner we passed on the way into town a couple of days ago has some awesome apple pie. We should go back there. I hear they've got this new, like, quadruple-decker burger."

Sam put his gun away, turning back toward the entrance of the room.

"You know you're on a one-way road toward a heart attack, right?"

Dean shrugged. "Whatever, man. I'm hungry."

Sam mock-bowed to Dean, gesturing to the door. "After you, then."

The elder Winchester took a single step toward the door, his mind filled with nothing but celebratory pie for a hunt well done. But, before he could even near the exit, the door slammed shut, the familiar sounds of a lock clicking into place. In a flash, both had their guns at the ready once more, turning around the small, empty—save for the body of the shifter—room. The single-bulb yellow light above them flickered as a loud, cold, high-pitched laugh filled the air around them. It sent a chill down Dean's spine as he turned to Sam.

"Why do I feel like I know that laugh?"

Before Sam could respond, another low set of chuckles sounded.

"Timing is _everything_!" the voice said.

And suddenly, things went from weird to worse. Both Winchesters stumbled back, groaning.

"Sammy," Dean moaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead.

But all he got in response was another, harder groan. His gaze rose, trying to search the smallish room for his brother, but things were getting fuzzy around the edges. And black. His vision was going black. He felt his gun slip from his hands, followed shortly by a clatter to the floor. Another clattering noise followed shortly after.

"Sam!" Dean called again moments before the room utterly vanished from sight.

The next few moments, all Dean could do was _feel_. And, honestly, he really wished that had gone away too. It started with a yank. Like someone had slipped one of those comically large hooks around his midsection and pulled with all their might. He expected the feeling of falling flat on his ass to follow, but instead, he just kept flying through the air. He called out for Sam again and got another groan in response, which, for the moment, was all he needed to hear. Sam was with him, and he still sounded fairly okay.

The flying backwards sensation lasted for a few moments longer before something else took over. They slowed down, passing through something that felt like they were passing through a thick wall of Jell-O gelatin. Dean moaned automatically, imagining himself to be covered in the cherry or lime flavored dessert—because those flavors were his favorites—before the feeling passed. Their speed increased, and for a second, the older Winchester was worried he might hurl. And then, in the next moment, he knew that probability had increased.

He felt _sick_ , in a horribly familiar way. He could tell that his vision had returned, but that it was still dark wherever he and Sam were at. And Sam was still with him, Dean could almost feel him off to his right. A light flashed, like lightning in the blackest clouds imaginable, and Dean felt his body ache. His bones felt old and brittle, and his skin and muscles were tight like they had been forcibly stretched. He knew this feeling and a bit of panic had set in.

"Dean," Sam called, the panic managing to leak out of the younger Winchester's mouth.

Dean was just relieved to hear him speak after so long. So he remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Dean, are we…? We _can't_ be! We didn't die! We wouldn't be here even then… _would_ we?" Sam spouted, and the sadness in his voice made Dean's heart join in on his bodily aches.

"It'll be all right," Dean called back lamely.

But he could still feel Sam's alarm. And he couldn't really blame him. After all, Dean had been to Hell before… but not like Sam. No, Sam had been in the Executive Suite of Hell—Lucifer's cage, playing chew toy to two supremely pissed off angels. Of course Sam's panic was a tangible thing. Dean tried to reach for him, to grab his arm, to let him know that they weren't separated again. But try as he might, it felt like his younger brother was just out of his reach.

The darkness was fading, and so was the ache that both Winchesters' were all too familiar with. Flickering light, yellow, orange, and red, began to rise before them. They both blinked, trying to adjust their vision. Sweat was pouring down their brows now, the salty tears hanging on their lips for seconds before falling to the rocky and lava-lined floor. Dean was pretty sure nothing but steam would be left once the sweat drop hit. Fire roared and died all around them, and a mad cackle was sounding somewhere off in the distance. Dean turned, and he could vaguely make out Sam's face—although Sam's body, and even his own, were somehow hidden from him. Confusion was written all over his face, and Dean was sure his look mirrored it. Where were they? But they didn't have long before that weird, gelatin feeling hit them again, and their vision went black once more. Then, with a rough _thud_ , Dean felt the front half of his body collide with something as solid as cement.

The air being knocked out of him, he coughed and pulled himself up to his knees. He wrapped his arms about his stomach, curling in as he still tried to breathe. His eyes were closed, he realized with a jolt, and he flung them open, gazing around for Sam. He didn't have to look very far. Sam was on his knees as well, facing Dean as he tried to get his bearings.

"Where the hell are we?" Sam said, looking around.

Dean didn't reply for a moment, and both boys were silent. In the distance, there was a strange noise, and if Dean strained his ears he was sure it had to be karate yells. He shook his head, instead gazing up at the brick building that loomed over him. He got to his feet as Sam did, and scratched the back of his head. With another shake, he realized that many buildings surrounded them. They were in the middle of a city street… but not a city that either Winchester had _ever_ been to.

"This place looks weird…" Dean muttered. "Like… like it's almost…"

"A cartoon," Sam concluded.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But still not quite. Blocky, like we were sucked into a cartoon but not fully, you know?"

"Weird."

Sam's gaze was now somewhere over Dean's shoulder, but the elder Winchester ignored his brother. He shook his head, his eyes searching the words written on the glass window pane of the shop beside him—a cute, squat building with a red awning. It announced it as "McDuck Jeweler's Inc." Dean's eyes narrowed. He echoed Sam's sentiment of "Weird."

The karate yells were still going on in the distance, but they sounded as if they were getting closer. Now, they could hear at least two other voices, maybe more, accompanying the yells. But Dean didn't turn, his gaze seemingly frozen on the store front.

"Yeah, you know, this is always how I imagined _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_ to look to the humans that were in the movie. This place is like a cartoon that a human could live in, I think. What do you think happened to us, Sammy? Do you think something hexed us? Or maybe we got bitten by something, like poisoned. Like the djinn. Do you think it's a djinn?"

"I don't think so, Dean," Sam muttered.

Dean gazed over at his brother. "Why do you say that?"

"Uh, because djinn still give you some semblance of reality to screw with your head."

Brow arched, Dean shrugged. "Maybe it's a newbie."

"Dean, _look_ ," Sam said, pointing past his brother.

Turning, Dean froze. He blinked. And then he blinked again, shaking his head. And then he took a moment to think back to the last drink he had had and whether it could have been drugged. When none of these things seemed to ease his mind, he forced himself to face the facts. There were ducks, fighting a robot that looked like the cartoon version of Satan—red, horns, tail, the works—with what looked like a rat in a yellow suit cackling madly.

Only, they were all walking upright, and where wings should be, feathered hands were instead. Two of the ducks stood off to the left, one taller than the rest of those before him and dressed in a brown pilot's suit with a tuff of red hair peeking out from underneath an aviator's cap. A red-haired girl-duck—shortest of the group—wearing a long purple jersey with a white number one on it and a pair of red sneakers on her presumably webbed feet was being held fast by the pilot duck while she cheered, "Go, Darkwing!"

Meanwhile, the duck she cheered—Darkwing, apparently—was dressed in a purple suit that extended to just above where his legs began, a wide-brimmed matching fedora hat on his head, cape over his shoulders, and mask on his face. He was the one doing the karate yells, throwing kick after punch at the devil-shaped robot. The rat in the yellow jumpsuit, a large battery strapped to his back and large goggles on his face continued to cackle, his blue-gloved hands actually grasping his belly as he did so.

"You'll never defeat El Diablo Robotico, Darkwing!" he cried manically.

Sam's brow furrowed. "The Robot Devil?"

Dean shook his head. "What the _hell_ is going _on_?"


	3. In Which Dean Forgets to be Serious

**Chapter Two: In Which Dean Forgets to Be Serious**

It was like a train wreck. They wanted to look away… but they just couldn't. Instead, both Sam and Dean stood there, shell-shocked, as they watched the masked duck fight the devil-shaped robot. The group was getting closer, and the fight seemed to be getting more and more intense. With a hollow, tin-sounding laugh, the robot shot a line of flames out at Darkwing, who did a back-flip out of harm's way. Dean and Sam exchanged a glance, their faces matching masks of disbelief as they turned back toward the action.

"Darkwing, the pitchfork!" the girl-duck cried, pointing.

She managed to wrench her shoulders out from under the grip of the protective aviator duck, but she paused before running into the fray. The robot's hand—the right one—transformed into a, well, devil's pitchfork, and the tips of the blades gleamed in the moonlight as the machine stabbed out toward Darkwing. With a cry, Darkwing launched himself skyward… but he wasn't fast enough. The tip of one of the blades caught him in the arm, a stream of bright red blood emerging through his white feathers almost immediately. And, despite the absurdity of it all, Sam and Dean had to stop themselves from running forward as the little girl-duck cried out Darkwing's name once more.

But the masked duck seemed unfazed, landing and delivering a roundhouse to the robot's head. The moment his webbed foot collided with the face, it dented in, and sparks went flying. He pulled his foot away and landed another kick in its chest, and it rolled back. Springs flew out of it and bolts of electricity danced out erratically. The head spun around and around faster than the eye could see before it popped off completely. It flew a few feet into the air only to land another foot or so from Sam and Dean. The aviator duck and the girl-duck followed the destroyed robot's head, their eyes immediately falling upon Sam and Dean. They both seemed confused, but not afraid, of the two obviously different creatures that so suddenly appeared before them. Meanwhile, Darkwing's attention had turned upward toward a set of power lines.

"It's over, Megavolt! It's back to the clink for you!" he sounded, bravado clear in his voice. "That robot was no match for the Mighty Masked Mallard!"

The rat—Megavolt—laughed down at the duck as Darkwing whirled his cape about his shoulders dramatically. Dean shook his head. This could _not_ be happening.

"Uh… DW?" the aviator duck said, his eyes trained on the Winchesters.

"Not now, LP," Darkwing said, still gazing up at Megavolt.

He was clearly about to threaten the evil rat again when Megavolt took the small distraction of the hero to his advantage. He shot a bolt—a big one—of blue electricity down at the group. Darkwing jumped backward out of the line of fire, while LP—as Darkwing had called him—pulled the girl-duck out of the way, stumbling and falling, pulling the girl-duck with him.

"First a robot, and now just shooting bolts at us?" Darkwing said, _tsk_ ing at him. "You're getting very boring, Megs."

Megavolt growled, and this time, it was a rain of bolts that fell upon the heroes from his fingertips.

"Dean, we've gotta help!" Sam said, pointing toward the little girl-duck.

The bolts were moving ever closer to her feet as both she and LP inched back along the paved road. Darkwing's eyes widened as he turned to stare at them.

"Gosalyn!" he called while Megavolt cackled some more.

"Fried or extra crispy for the little girl, Darkwing?" he asked.

Dean and Sam charged out at the group, reaching LP and Gosalyn in almost record time. Sam helped LP to his feet while Dean scooped Gosalyn up in his arms. Darkwing looked on at them in surprise.

"We've got them. Take down that SOB," Dean called as they retreated from Megavolt's onslaught.

Darkwing nodded, pulling a bulky black gun, with some purpling detailing that matched his costume, from somewhere within the folds of his cape. Sam, Dean, and LP didn't stop until they reached the safety of the sidewalk across the street, but Dean's eyes were wide as he huffed out a laugh.

"Whoa… Purple Talking Duck is packing heat," he said.

Gosalyn stared at him, still held up high off the ground—considering that Dean stood at least a couple of heads taller than LP, while Sam practically towered over him. Dean grinned at her, trying his best to look non-threatening.

"You're okay," he said.

He could see the questions in her bright, round eyes, but she held them in, staring on at Darkwing as he bounced and twirled and ducked underneath Megavolt's attack. Finally, he back-flipped several feet away, stopping with his gun aimed up at the villain.

"Very uninspired, Megsy. What would the rest of the villains say?" he taunted.

Megavolt growled again. "I didn't build the stupid robot! He was already like that! I just woke him up!"

Darkwing shook his head. "And stealing others' ideas? Bad, bad. Suck gas, evil-doer!"

With that, a pellet the size of the duck's fist shot out, catching in the lines Megavolt stood on. It sizzled and popped loudly, a cloud of gas enveloping the villain. When it cleared, he staggered, muttering a bit, before yawning wildly.

"Night-night," he muttered, falling.

He landed hard enough to leave a hair-line crack in the cement, and all those watching winced. Gosalyn smiled, wiggled out of Dean's arms and landing in a small crouch on the ground. Darkwing made quick work of trussing up Megavolt and tossing him over the back of a large, purple motorcycle—complete with sidecar and duck-shape hood—before he approached Sam, Dean, and the others.

The hero duck crossed his arms, brow arched high toward his hat.

"More humans?" he asked.

And Dean just couldn't hold it in any more. He laughed. Loud and hard, bending forward to slap his knee even. Sam's eyes widened in horror.

"Dean!" he snapped. "Knock it off!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Dean gasped, leaning up and shaking his hand in the air. "I just… they're _ducks_. _Talking_ ducks."

LP, Darkwing, and Gosalyn all exchanged looks while Sam grinned embarrassingly at them. Dean continued to laugh, and Sam edged over, digging his elbow into his brother's side.

"Stop it," Sam hissed.

Dean nodded, but only managed to reduce his amusement to chuckles. Darkwing rolled his eyes.

"Great. This is just wonderful. Who _are_ you two?" he demanded.

"Um, I'm Sam Winchester. And this is my brother, Dean," Sam said, sticking out a hand hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure that shaking hands was what ducks did to greet each other.

But LP stepped forward, all grins, and took up his hand. He shook it heartily.

"I'm Launchpad McQuack," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the duckling and Darkwing. "And this is Gosalyn and Darkwing Duck."

Dean sighed, taking in a huge breath as he wiped his laughter tears away.

"Darkwing Duck? And that's your real name, Talking Duck?" Dean laughed.

Darkwing's eyes narrowed in a glare. "Of course not. My real name is a secret."

"He's a hero," Gosalyn said, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Sam arched a brow. "Like, what, Batman?"

At that, all three ducks blinked and exchanged a glance. Finally, Darkwing took a step forward.

"Do you guys know Buffy Summers?" he asked.

Now it was Sam and Dean's turn to exchange a glance.

"You've met another human before?" Dean asked. Gesturing to himself and Sam, he added, "This isn't a new thing to you?"

Gosalyn giggled. "No. Just a few months ago, we had a human woman come through… and then her sister. They were from a different dimension."

An odd light grew in the duckling's eyes as she gazed up at the two men.

"Are you monster hunters?"

Sam gaped at her. "What? Why?"

"Gosalyn!" Darkwing chastised, and Dean suddenly realized that this girl, Gosalyn, was probably Darkwing's daughter. After all, he had heard John say his and Sam's names in very much the same manner before.

"I'm just asking, Dad," she shrugged before turning back to Sam. "Buffy was a vampire slayer."

"You mean a vampire hunter? I mean, we've hunted vampires before, but we don't specialize. We pretty much take down whatever monster comes our way. Monsters, demons, ghosts… things like that," Dean explained.

"Slayers are always girls, remember, Gos?" Launchpad said.

Gosalyn nodded. "Oh, yeah. So… you two don't have any super powers, like passed down to you so you can defeat those monsters, do you?"

"I hope not," Darkwing muttered as the Winchesters' arched a brow at him.

Finally, Sam shook his head. "Uh, no. No one has super powers like that where we're from. Well, I mean, there are psychics, and people like that."

"I mean more like super strength," Gosalyn explained

Sam and Dean shook their heads. Darkwing cupped his beak, thoughtful.

"Hmm… you must be from a different dimension than Buffy," Launchpad said, and Darkwing sighed.

"How do you figure, LP?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Well, the way I see it, if these two are monster hunters, and if the slayers are the way that Buffy said they were the last time we spoke to her, then they would know each other. I mean, remember? Buffy said that they were reaching out to freelance hunters, and that Willow was having an easy time finding them."

Both Sam and Dean exchanged a glance for about the millionth time since they had arrived. Darkwing, meanwhile, reached up and grasped both sides of his hat, yanking it down hard over his head.

"Perfect! Just perfect! I mean, the last time we had a couple of humans drop in on us, half the city ended up torn to pieces, and Gosalyn winded up a slayer. What now? Launchpad getting crowned intergalactic overlord?" he groaned.

Sam glanced down at the red-haired duckling. "You're one of those slayer things you mentioned?"

She nodded up at him proudly. "Yup. But Dad won't let me use my powers. But I could totally toss that car over there like down the street or something."

Darkwing shook his head. "Oh, you could not!"

She whirled on her father—as Dean was pleased he had deduced correctly—and glared up at him.

"Yes, I could, if you'd let me!"

Dean laughed again, which drew the ducks' attention back to the elder Winchester. He covered his mouth, wiping at it as if it would take the humor away. He shook his head.

"Sorry," he apologized again. "Still adjusting."

Sam sighed. Clearing his throat, Dean tried again.

"Okay, so we're in a whole different dimension?"

Darkwing nodded. "Seems so. And like I said, the last time a human was here in St. Canard, it took the city a month to clean up. It still hasn't rebuilt anything. Not to mention to cover up the horde-worth of vampire attacks. You don't have any vampires after you, do you?"

Dean went to answer, but Sam held up his hands.

"Wait," he said. "Let me get this straight. You're a vigilante superhero who knows about the supernatural?"

Shrugging, the Masked Mallard nodded. "Of course! I happen to be dating a witch, you know."

Dean's ears perked up. "A witch? Not that I'm one to turn to witchcraft, but… do you think she would know how to get us back to our world?"

"Maybe," Darkwing admitted, and Gosalyn crossed her arms.

"How did you get here, anyway?" she asked. "Did a demon do it?"

"You know about demons too?" Sam asked.

"That's how Buffy got here. A demon _poof_ ed her here."

"We're not sure," Dean answered. "But if your witch friend could help…"

Darkwing sighed, straightening his abused hat. "Maybe she can. I've got to drop this evil-doer off at the police station… But if you're willing, you can ride along, and we'll go to Morgana's and see what she can sort out."

"Maybe she can contact Willow," Gosalyn offered.

Dean's eyes drifted to the duck-shaped purple motorcycle and pursed his lips. Sam could see it in his brother's eyes… more laughter threatening to leak out. He nudged Dean once more and smiled.

"We'd appreciate it," he said.

Darkwing rolled his eyes, turning toward the bike. "Oh, Morg's gonna love this."

"Wahoo!" Gosalyn cried out joyously.

The Winchesters let the ducks get a few steps ahead before Dean turned to his brother.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is gonna be one of those things that we'll never forget?"

Sam huffed. "We've just had a conversation with articulate ducks. I think it's already one of those things."


	4. In Which There is Much Exposition

**Chapter Three: In Which There is Much Exposition**

They literally dropped Megavolt off on the front steps. Actually, they tossed him out, watching his unconscious form skid to a stop just before the double glass doors of the police station. From there, Darkwing sped his way through town—managing not to catch a single red light—until they were suddenly on a very large suspension bridge. And never, in all their days, would the Winchesters be able to attest as to how it happened, but suddenly they were driving up one of the large coils. Dean—who was wedged into the sidecar with Gosalyn—gripped the sides of his seat until his knuckles turned white. Sam, meanwhile, kept having to fight the urge to yank his feet up even higher than they already were, leaning around Launchpad to watch Darkwing drive right up inside one of the towers. They came to a stop on a large metal landing pad, and Darkwing killed the motor of the vehicle. A hydraulic hiss sounded as the platform began to lower itself down to the floor of the tower. As soon as it clicked into place in the otherwise tiled floor, Gosalyn launched herself out of the sidecar.

"Okay, we need answers!" she said.

"Us first," Dean said, unfolding himself out of the bike. "Where are we?"

Sam did something similar as he came to stand beside his brother. Darkwing removed his helmet, hooking it over one of the handlebars, as he and Launchpad got off as well.

"Darkwing Tower," the masked hero answered. "I need to make sure that it's safe to bring you to Morgana's."

"So you brought us to your hideout instead?" Sam questioned.

Darkwing blinked, looking a bit bashed. But he recovered his stern look with a glance as Gosalyn advanced on Dean, one finger extended out toward him.

"Okay, bub, everything out. Now," she ordered.

"Hey, hey!" Dean called, raising his hands up. "We saved you from the electric rat, remember?"

"That's true, DW. They _did_ save us while you were dealing with Megavolt," Launchpad said kindly.

"But we still know nothing about them," Darkwing replied calmly.

"Yeah!" Gosalyn said, striding forward again. "So talk!"

"Fine! What do you want to know?" Dean said.

"Uh… um," Gosalyn faltered, as if she hadn't quite thought this interrogation through. Darkwing sighed, running a hand down his face as she recovered. "Okay, how about, what were you doing before you got here?"

"We were hunting a shapeshifter that was… um, _attacking_ college-aged girls," Sam answered.

Gosalyn cocked her head to the right. "A shapeshifter? Like, it could look like _anybody_?"

Both boys nodded, and an almost wicked grin lit up the duckling's face. "Cool… Like, could it be a mutant ninja slug from mars with purple, slimy fangs?"

Dean's eyes searched the room as Darkwing crossed his arms over his chest, sighing.

"Gosalyn… this is not important," he said.

"And, um, I'm not sure about that answer," Sam said.

Gosalyn looked visibly crestfallen, to the point where her pigtails even seemed to droop. Dean smiled nervously.

"Probably," he offered. "They probably could."

That seemed to perk her up a bit as Darkwing strode forward, gently shoving her aside.

"Don't encourage her," he said.

"Look," Sam said gently, putting on his best set of puppy-dog eyes. "Honestly, we don't know how we got here or why. One minute we were hunting the shifter, the next we were being yanked through… something to arrive on that sidewalk where you guys were. And all we want is to get home. Yes, we're monster hunters, but we're not super-powered monster hunters. They don't exist in our world. We just want to go home with no trouble, and if you think this Morgana can help us… then that's all we want."

Darkwing seemed to consider that, looking the boys up and down. Finally, his eyes slid shut as he let out another, wearier sigh. He opened his eyes once more, but now he looked as if he had aged a few years in the process.

"You've gotta understand," he began, "the last time a human monster hunter was in town, more than just the city was hurt. Gosalyn ended up a slayer after a slayer from our world, Mindy… well, after Mindy. Now, it's all I can do to keep these Watchers that train slayers from coming to take my little girl away. I don't know what tricks they have up their sleeves, so I didn't know if you could be a part of their plan to get her or what. Meanwhile, our only hope of keeping her is finding this mysterious weapon that we know for a fact exists in another dimension. However, the only reason we even think it exists here is because of the similarities between Buffy's world and ours. It's a long shot. Plus, there are all these weird weather things going on all over the world."

"We understand," Sam said. "We just want to get back, no trouble caused."

But Dean had caught on to something else Darkwing had said. "What weather things?"

The Masked Mallard shrugged. "Hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, volcanoes erupting. All seemingly out of nowhere. It all started almost immediately after Buffy left. Plus, there are all these weird, so-called animal attacks… but, honestly, it's the furthest thing from animal-attacks."

Apparently, both Winchesters were suddenly thinking the same thing. And both must have had the same worried looks on their faces because Darkwing looked questioningly up at them.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Um… now, we're not sure… we'd have to read more about the specific things, but… it sounds like—" Sam began.

"An apocalypse. _The_ Apocalypse," Dean cut in.

The room threw tangibly tense. Launchpad even shook a little as he gulped loudly. He motioned up to the sky and then down toward his feet with a single finger as he asked, "Y-you mean…?"

"Maybe not," Sam said. "But… it sounds a lot like what was happening in our world when we faced the Apocalypse."

"Sammy," Dean said in a low voice, putting his back to the group. Sam moved closer to his brother as he whispered, "Do you really think that Lucifer would try to pop out of his box into Duckland?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, Dean. If you had asked me while we were hunting the shifter, I would have laughed and asked if you were drunk or high. But now… who knows? Sounds like our luck, though, doesn't it?"

They both sighed as they turned back to Darkwing and his group, who seemed to have had a powwow of their own. Now, the ducks turned their attention back to the Winchesters.

"We should definitely talk to Morgana about this. See what she thinks," Darkwing concluded.

"Are we cleared to tag along, as was the original plan?" Dean asked.

"I don't know… I mean, if you knew what happened the _last_ time…" Darkwing muttered.

"Dad!" Gosalyn groaned. "You're a hero! And these people _need_ our help! Besides, maybe they can help us too, you know, with the scythe and these weird signs."

Darkwing huffed out a small laugh. "You're right. Come on, Sam, Dean, LP."

"Me too!" Gosalyn shouted, but Darkwing held out a hand.

"Oh, no. You're going home."

" _What_?" Gosalyn cried, clearly outraged.

"You have school in the morning, young lady," Darkwing said, climbing back onto the bike as Sam, Dean, and Launchpad followed suit.

"That's not fair! This was my idea, them helping!"

"It's too dangerous, and if it really is the Apocalypse, then those Watchers might be close by. We can't risk it. Good night, sweetheart!"

With that, the bike roared back to life, and the platform began to rise. They were several feet above Gosalyn's head when Darkwing sighed, turning to stare at Dean and Sam.

"Here we go again," he muttered. "Ever have a bad case of déjà vu?"

Both Winchesters nodded as the platform finally reached its peak, and they roared off back into the night.


	5. In Which It Might Hit the Fan

**Chapter Four: In Which It Might Hit the Fan**

The manor home they pulled up in front of was something that would have been perfectly in place in October, set of in the middle of nowhere. But, as it wasn't that time of year (that was, if this dimension even celebrated Halloween—there were really too many questions for Sam and Dean to ask) and that it was set in between two high-rise apartment buildings, the manor stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. It was weathered, and dark, with a yard full of nothing but dead flowers and ominous looking trees that overhung the walkway, casting long shadows. Dean blinked, but he would've sworn that he had seen a flash of lightning behind the home, even though there wasn't a cloud in the block-y, cartoonish sky.

The ducks and the Winchesters disembarked the vehicle, and Darkwing led the way to the front door. They were halfway up the walk when Dean swore he felt a breeze and chilly rain beginning. He glanced up, seeing the sudden appearance of clouds blacker than the night they filled. He glanced back at his brother, jerking a thumb skyward. Sam shrugged. Well, at least Dean wasn't crazy—or if he was, Sam was too, which was also kind of comforting.

They stopped in something of a messy line behind Darkwing, who jabbed a finger into the bronze button by the darkly stained door. The doorbell was normal enough, though Dean thought he heard a scream somewhere in the distance. He decided just to go with the flow, even when the door opened by itself. Every fiber of being yearned for a sawed off and some rock salt shells, but Darkwing and Launchpad seemed as if this were an everyday thing. The elder Winchester cast one more glance back at his younger brother, who shrugged once more, adding, "When in Rome, I guess." They entered the home.

The door slammed shut behind them—when Sam was barely clear—and they found themselves in a modestly furnished sitting room consisting of a large armchair, a sofa, and a bookshelf covering the left most wall, packed full of books. And, despite its gloomy exterior, the interior wasn't so bad, done in dull blues and reds.

"Dark?" a sultry, very feminine voice called from the archway at the back-right of the room. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Morg. I, uh, brought you a surprise, hehe," Darkwing chuckled nervously.

"A surprise?"

A curtain pushed aside, and standing in the room, a look of mild surprise—as predicted—on her small beaked face was a tall duck. She stood just a tad taller than Launchpad, her hair giving her most her height, as it rose in a beehive style. Two dark gray strips highlighted the otherwise ebony hair, and when she motioned to Dean and Sam, a piece of her crimson red dress stretched out with one of her hands. She had no visible feet, and a dark emerald broach was clasped at her throat.

" _More_ humans, Dark, darling?" she asked.

"Wait, so… you too? You've met more of our, uh, kind?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I have. I'm Morgana Macawber, by the way," she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sorry. I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean."

Dean stretched out a friendly hand. "Ma'am."

Morgana arched a single brow as she shook it, lightly. He drew the hand back, glancing over at Sam. "I don't know why I did that."

"Me either."

"Yeesh," Darkwing groaned, running a hand down his bill.

Morgana glided—since, seriously, she seemed to have no feet—forward, circling the Winchesters briefly, before coming to stand beside Darkwing.

"Well," she proclaimed, "I know you can't be slayers. So, what is your story?"

Dean shook his head, annoyed. After all, they, apparently, had no slayers in their world—or if they did, they didn't give two shits about anything. Hunters, as far as he was concerned, should be the primary concern here. "That's the second time that's come up. Why the hell are they so important?"

The group of ducks visibly bristled. Morgana crossed her arms again, this time tilting her head ever so slightly to the right.

"Well, one _is_ buried in my backyard," she snipped.

Dean blinked, feeling more abashed than he would have expected. Superpowers or not, he supposed that slayers were just as vulnerable to the hazards of the job as Hunters. Sam's elbow made a quick and sudden collision with his ribs, forcing out a quiet, "Sorry."

It was Launchpad who cleared his throat, speaking up, "Hey, they didn't know."

The tension in the room melted, and Dean let out an awkward chuckle.

"Yeah, um, kind of being thrown a curve ball here. I mean, ducks don't talk in our world," he said.

"Unless this is the trickster's doing," Sam added.

"Gabriel is dead, Sammy. Besides, this is _too_ weird. Even for him." Aware of the watchful eyes of the four ducks on him, Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "So, seen any apocalypses around here lately?"

"What?" Morgana asked, clearly taken off guard.

Darkwing let out another awkward chuckle. "Yeah, sweetie, that's the _other_ reason why we're here. We were talking about the weird weather and such that was going on world-wide, and these two said that led to an apocalypse in their world. Thought we could maybe check up on that, hmm?"

" _The_ apocalypse," Sam corrected.

"Oh, no, there are several different kinds," Launchpad put in. "Ask Gos about it sometime."

Sam and Dean could only blink at the aviator.

"All over the world, you say?" Morgana murmured, making her way over to her bookshelf.

"Yeah, even Duckburg has experienced some of this," Launchpad said.

Dean snorted out a laugh. "Duckburg."

Sam and Darkwing both glared at him. He shrugged. "What? Oh, come on! It would be like if we had a city named Peopleburg or something."

Both the superhero duck and Dean's brother rolled their eyes and shook their heads. It was a lot of work not laugh at that too. Morgana, for her part, had ignored this conversation, making her way over to the sofa. She took a seat and cracked the spine on the huge, black leather volume she held. She flipped through several musty, dusty pages, skimming each with a white-feathered finger for several moments before she finally furrowed her brow.

"Oh dear."

She let out a long sigh as all others in the room exchanged a glance. Darkwing, Launchpad, Dean, and Sam drew a bit nearer, waiting with baited breath.

"Um, sweetums, what did you find? Are we _actually_ fighting an apocalypse here… again?"

"Again?" Sam and Dean asked simultaneously. Sure, Launchpad had mentioned there were several different kinds… but they had never mentioned fighting an actual apocalypse.

Morgana waved them off the question. "This is different. This is the most literal of all apocalypses. This one actually involves Beelzebub leaving his dominion to rule on Earth."

"But, we've beaten him before," Darkwing said.

"Okay, now, what? Seriously, what?" Dean asked.

Darkwing was pulling at his beak again. This time, he followed it up by sweeping his purple fedora off his rounded head and swiping his forehead with the back of his hand before replacing the hat.

"Gos kinda sorta made a deal with him to gain some powerful magic… dark magic," Darkwing explained.

The Winchesters' collective eyes widened. Darkwing shrugged. "She doesn't have the magic anymore, and I'm alive. So it's all water under the bridge."

"What the hell did we get into here?" Dean asked, turning toward his brother. "Talking ducks? Witches? Slayers? Another apocalypse? How the freakin' hell did this happen?"

Sam shrugged. "I think one problem at a time."

Morgana, still seated on the couch and thumbing through the text, frowned up at her audience. "And that deal Gos made might have been what sparked the apocalypse. Or when Buffy was here and you two woke the Hellmouth. And, I'm sorry, did I hear you say _another_ apocalypse?"

"Yeah. That's how we recognized the signs," Sam began. "You see, in our world, just last year or so, we put a stop to ours. Of course, Lucifer actually got loose and we had to get him back into his cage in Hell. It's a really long story. And it was all sort of my fault."

"Looks like you and Talking Purple Duck have something in common," Dean joked.

Nobody laughed, and he cleared his throat, pressing on. "Uh, back in our world, there were sixty-six seals that needed to be broken to open up Lucifer's cage, out of a possible six hundred and sixty-six. Does that book mention anything like that?"

"Six hundred and sixty-six!" Darkwing shouted.

"Yeah, like, how are we supposed to know which ones to try and stop?" Launchpad asked.

Morgana was nodding down at her book. "Well, it's not in English, and it's been quite a while since I've studied any of the Dark Languages, but if I'm getting the gist of this, _yes_ there are six hundred and sixty-six possible seals to break. However, that means across _all_ the dimensions that have a Hell. Apparently, not all do."

"Well, aren't their lives grand," Darkwing snipped, and Dean and Sam nodded.

"You said all of your seals were actually broken?" Morgana asked, and the boys nodded again. "Hmm. Well, that breaks it down to just six hundred."

"Yeah," Darkwing scoffed, apparently having had just about enough of all this news. " _Just_ six hundred."

But Morgana's finger was gliding down the page, and she was shaking her head. Sighing, she stood, cradling the open book.

"Like I said, it's been a while, and some of these seals are a complete mystery to me, but… Dark, did I happen to see on the news that you were fighting a robot in the image of the devil?"

Darkwing puffed his chest out, pride radiating from him. "Yes. That megalomaniacal Megavolt managed his mischief. In the end, the Mighty Masked Mallard ended the battle."

Morgana groaned, and Darkwing deflated. "I was afraid of that, Dark."

"What?" Sam asked.

"Again, _if_ I'm reading this right—I would really need more time to work through translating this properly—that means there's only, um, one, two, three—six. Only six more before Beelzebub rises."

Darkwing and Launchpad gulped loudly. Dean was rubbing the bridge of his nose. He couldn't take much more of this.

"So a robot devil is one of the seals? Really? How… what?"

"Yes, it reads, roughly, _El Diablo Robótico must shed a hero's blood_. Oh! Dark, that's it! It didn't—?"

But Darkwing was shaking his head, showing the small wound on his arm he had sustained during the fight with the electric rat. Dean's head was beginning to hurt, and he was really tempted to ask if they had alcohol in this world.

"Wait, isn't that Spanish? El Diablo Robótico? Is that the Dark Language? Cause I took some Spanish in school," Sam offered.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "No, that's the translation."

Sam's brow furrowed. "So it translated from the Dark Language… _to_ Spanish?"

The witch shrugged. Dean was seconds away from bashing his head against the nearest wall and just hoping he woke up. Maybe he had already had his drinks for the night. Sam recovered, sighing and holding up his hand.

"Okay, so… it lists the seals that need to be broken for this dimension, right? This book?"

"Yes, it seems so. And, if I'm not mistaken, they are in the order in which they need to be broken. But, again, my speed at translation…"

"That's okay. In theory, if we stop the next one, we stop them all, right? So, do you happen to know which one is next?"

Sometimes, Dean thought that maybe, just maybe, that time at Stanford _wasn't_ a complete waste. Morgana seemed to be glaring down at the book before she finally nodded.

"I think it has something to do with floods," she said. She muttered through the words of a language Dean definitely didn't recognize before she finally added, "Yes. It reads, ' _The waters shall arise and reclaim the fallen land._ '"

Sam nodded, once, and Dean had a feeling his recognized that move.

"We'll stay, and help stop the apocalypse. _This_ apocalypse," Sam said.

"Hold up, time out," Dean said, dragging his brother off to the side of the room just a bit. "I'm not trying to be a dick or anything… but don't you think _our_ world has enough problems, without having to go knocking down doors to other dimensions looking for more problems to solve?"

"Dean, we have some real experience with this. We can help stop this before it starts. We can keep this world from suffering like ours did. We've got the aid of hindsight. Maybe… maybe we were brought here, specifically _here_ for a reason."

Dean could feel the urge to argue with his brother rising, but with one look at the determination in Sam's eyes, he sighed. Dean was many things, but he wasn't a complete idiot. He could hear the words that Sam hadn't said. He could hear the guilt. Karmically, Sam Winchester was trying to correct past wrongs. The elder Winchester nodded. They returned to the group at large.

"Okay," Dean sighed. "We'll help while _also_ looking for a way home. But I would like to note that we _did_ have an angel helping us last apocalypse and say what you will, I think it made all the difference."

Launchpad blinked at him. "Wow, really? An angel, wings, halo, and everything?"

"Um, real angels are a little different than what we're told, but yeah. A real angel," Dean answered.

"Hey, why don't we try to contact Castiel? I mean, he's an _angel_. He's travelled back in time. Maybe he can travel through dimensions," Sam suggested.

Dean clapped his hands together once, pointing at his brother. "Best idea I've heard all night."

"I might be able to do one better," Morgana said. "Angels, as I've understood it in the past, are pure energy in their more celestial forms. They're not bound by the same laws that those of us of flesh and blood are. Willow and I, in our interdimensional travel studies, have come across mentions of angels travelling back and forth relatively easily. All it requires is a spell."

Dean chose to ignore the reference to a person—he assumed, hoping that trees weren't sentient in this world too—he didn't know and focus on the important information. "Do you have said spell?"

"No, but I know I could find it easily," the witch-duck answered.

Before anyone else could respond, the sound of a static-y radio sounded from somewhere around Darkwing. All eyes fell to the hero duck as he pulled a small radio from the within the folds of his cape. Dean was beyond questioning things in this world now. He only vaguely noted how quickly that had happened. A voice on the radio was speaking, making a call for all police. There was, apparently, flooding in some of the still devastated areas of St. Canard—the city they were in, the Winchesters assumed. Darkwing and Launchpad exchanged a look while Darkwing put away the radio.

"That sounds like Liquidator," the sidekick said.

"It also sounds like the next seal," Sam said.

All eyes fell to Morgana, and she motioned toward the door. "Go. Stop him. Some of the seals look a bit harder to translate. I'll be working on that and a spell to contact your angel friend."

"Castiel," Dean said.

She nodded. Meanwhile, Darkwing was already leaping to action. "Let's get dangerous!"

Dean shook his head. "I've got a bad feeling."


	6. In Which a Friend Arrives

**Chapter Five: In Which a Friend Arrives**

The area of the city that the Ratcatcher came to a stop at looked like, currently, it should have a beach. It had plenty of water, and the water was even ebbing and flowing like it had a tide. However, there were no white sandy beaches in sight. Instead, tall, partially burnt out skyscrapers clawed at the night sky, casting long, eerie shadows on the water below. Looking around, Dean could tell that they were probably close to where downtown would be in St. Canard, but instead, it looked like a well flooded warzone.

"What happened here?" Sam asked, pulling his ridiculously tall form off the ridiculously small red and purple bike.

Honestly, Dean thought it was a miracle the vehicle even moved when his brother was on it. He stifled his chuckles, instead turning to the ducks for their answer. Launchpad scratched awkwardly at the back of his head, while Darkwing was staring sadly out over the water covered urban area.

"This is the result of Buffy's visit to St. Canard," Launchpad said.

"Yeah, so you can see where we were a little less than happy to see more humans," Darkwing added.

Dean looked out over the water, trying to imagine just how bad the damage to the roads underneath must look, considering the state of what he _could_ see.

"This was the next seal, wasn't it?" Dean asked.

Darkwing shrugged. "Well, maybe not. I mean… maybe it meant… something… else."

A broken piece of cement sloshed up at their feet. The hero sighed. "All right. Yeah. I think this was it."

Sam was nodding, but not in any sort of agreement. In fact, it looked like the nod a puppy waiting for its master to throw a yellow felted tennis ball. Hopeful.

"That's okay. This is fine. We can stop this. We can _fix_ this," Sam babbled.

Darkwing and Launchpad didn't look so convinced. Dean sighed. Leaning closer to his brother, he muttered, "Dude, we didn't _stop_ ours, remember? We just ended it. You get the difference, right?"

"Well, that's not happening here," Sam said, as Launchpad said, "What?"

Sam shushed Dean, shaking his head at Darkwing's sidekick. Darkwing turned toward the rest of his group, his beak parting as if to speak, and paused. Holding a single feathered finger in the air, he said, "Do you hear that?"

The group fell deathly silent. For a while, all Dean could hear was the sloshing of water at his feet, but then, just barely, he thought he heard something that was all too familiar to him… with some added karate yells.

"Gosalyn!" Darkwing and Launchpad yelled, launching forward into the water.

Of course, the ducks moved quickly through the water. Dean shook his head.

"Let's go, Sammy!" he said, and the two Winchesters followed.

They ran until the water was high enough to slow them, following it deeper into the rubble of this part of the city. They moved, keeping their eyes more on the water in case of hazardous pieces of debris, until they were about thigh deep. A cry of "Gosalyn!" from some ways in front of them pulled their attention up…

And up, and up, and up. Dean threw his hands into the air. "Really!"

A dog, giant and made entirely out of water, was looming over them. It glared down at its watery fist, in which was clutched a little redheaded figure. Darkwing called for his daughter again, and Dean could just barely hear Gosalyn struggling against the water dog that held her.

"Step back!" Darkwing shouted at the Winchesters as he withdrew his gun.

The boys took the recommended step, and watched as the hero took aim at the head of the giant.

"Put her down, Liquidator! Last warning!" he yelled.

The dog—Liquidator—leveled his gaze at Darkwing… and his eyes went from a watery blue to acid green, and when his snout opened to laugh, it was filled with razor sharp teeth. Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Um, is that normal around here, Launchpad?" Sam called over.

"Yes and no," the aviator replied.

The Winchesters exchanged another look, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Be more specific!"

"Yes to him being made of water. No to the eyes and the teeth. Those are definitely new!"

Darkwing fired, and all eyes followed the gas canister as it hit its target just as intended and released a cloud of—from the Winchesters' vantage—unidentifiable black smoke. Coughing, Liquidator waved Gosalyn about a bit, before finally releasing his hold on the girl. Darkwing lost no time. He managed to hurl himself out of the water, catching his daughter mid-fall, and land just at Liquidator's pillar-like base.

"You okay, Gos? What are you even doing here?" Darkwing asked, pulling his daughter back.

"I'm a slayer, Dad! I've got to help where I can!" she answered.

Above them, the smoke had cleared, and to the untrained eye, nothing had changed. However, Sam and Dean realized one thing immediately: the eyes were back to normal. Or, as normal as a giant water dog's eyes could be.

Around the Liquidator's base, little water creatures formed, and they made a beeline for Darkwing and his companions. The trio of ducks launched immediately into defending themselves, while Sam tried to surge forward. Dean caught his brother's arm, holding him back. Sam looked at him incredulously.

"We've got to help, Dean!" Sam shouted.

"Yeah, I hear you. But let's stick to what we know," Dean said. Then, pointing up at Liquidator, he added, "Launchpad said the eyes and teeth aren't normal. Guess what they remind me of?"

Sam took a breath, glancing from Darkwing's crew's fight, Liquidator, and then finally, back at his brother.

"Possession," he admitted.

"Bingo. Problem is, we've still got nothing."

Sam gestured over at Darkwing as he roundhouse kicked one of the water gremlins back into… just water. This fight was going nowhere fast.

"We can't just let them deal with this on their own while we stand back and watch!" the younger Winchester protested.

"Well, what are we _supposed_ to do, Sammy? We can't stab the water! It's _water_!"

Launchpad bonked one of the creatures on its "head." Still, they left the Winchesters alone. Apparently, their reputation _hadn't_ preceded them.

"We don't have Ruby's knife with us anyway. Or the colt," Sam sighed. "Or anything."

A cry from Gosalyn drew their attention in time to see one of the creatures sprout arms, grab the girl, and hurl her in their general direction. Dean lunged forward a bit and caught her with ease. The creature in question now made its way toward the brothers, but Sam dispatched it with an easy flick of the hand. One on one, these water gremlins were little threat. However, they were swarming Darkwing and Launchpad, getting harder and harder to get to before they could get a hit or two in.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Gosalyn nodded, pointing toward the pile of creatures now crowding her father. "Dad's not gonna be able to hold them off for much longer! If you guys have any tips or tricks, now would be the time!"

"Exorcism!" Sam said.

Dean nodded. He glanced down at Gosalyn. "We might have a solution to the larger problem here. Can you help your dad keep them busy a bit longer?"

She leapt easily from Dean's arms. "You got it!"

Fearlessly, she charged—as best as one could charge in water—back into the fight. Dean arched a brow.

"Kid's got spunk," he said. Turning back to his brother, he said, "Let's do this."

Quietly, just about at normal speaking tones—which was getting harder and harder to hear over the sloshing, and the insane laughter Liquidator was starting to spout—the Winchesters began the exorcism. They were just a few words in, with no visible result. But still, they persisted, eyes darting back and forth from the giant figure to the water gremlin-covered heroes. Finally, a quarter of the way through, they noticed a twitch in Liquidator, and some of the water gremlins fell away, turning back into plain ol' water. They increased their speed, throwing out the Latin as if they had known the words their entire lives. Finally, halfway through, Liquidator turned on the Winchesters.

He let out a high-pitched, crazed laugh, followed immediately by a roar so inhuman that it reminded Dean of a deep, dark abyss. Green eyes flashed, and the razor teeth were back as Liquidator laughed, high and cold, again.

"Not this time, Winchesters," an equally high voice squealed.

Premature to the end of the exorcism right, a plume of black-red smoke launched itself out of Liquidator's mouth skyward. The moment it was gone, flying far and away, Liquidator began to fall. As his more formed parts touched the greater water, he simply joined it. In the end, the group was surrounded by nothing but simple water.

"What the heck was that about?" Darkwing shouted.

The heroes waded over to Sam and Dean, while Launchpad shook his head.

"Gee, guys. It seemed like that thing _knew_ you."

"Yeah, what _was_ that?" Gosalyn asked.

"A demon. At least, that's what we call them in our world," Sam answered.

A dark sort of glee filled the duckling's eyes. "I _knew_ it."

"How did it know you?" Darkwing asked. "Is that one of the villains you fight regularly in your world?"

"I'm pretty sure we'd remember _that_ voice," Sam said. "No. I don't think so, at least."

A tinkling of electronic bells, completely out of place in their present situation, sounded. Darkwing reached inside his cape and withdrew a flip phone cell. Dean narrowed his eyes at the hero.

"How is that thing not ruined by all of this, Talking Duck?"

"My name is _Darkwing_. And I had this thing waterproofed _ages_ ago," the hero said, flipping the phone open. A moment later, he looked up. "That was Morg. She says your friend is here."

Dean and Sam all but lit up.

"Cas is here?" Sam asked. Darkwing nodded.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go!" Dean said, already wading his way back over to the Ratcatcher.

The drive served to dry off their clothes so that they were only moderately damp when they arrived back outside Macawber Manor. This time, Darkwing made no pretenses of ringing the doorbell, instead walking right inside, followed by Gosalyn and Launchpad. Dean and Sam eagerly crossed the threshold. Morgana stood just in front of the sofa, and Dean broke to the front of the group.

"Where is he? Where's Cas?" he asked.

Before she could answer, a voice—gruff as if from minimal usage, deep, and somewhat familiar if not for a few things—answered, "I'm here, Dean."

The group turned as the door to the manor slammed shut, revealing a duck with a mop of messy black hair, dressed in a tan overcoat. Under that was an unkempt suit. The duck's face was shockingly familiar with the same intense blue eye, but instead of a mouth and nose, there was only a short bill.

"Hi, Dean, Sam," the duck said.

There was a beat of silence. Then, Dean began to laugh. All eyes fell to him as he literally bent forward, slapping his knee. He was wheezing for breath when Castiel—who was clearly in possession of this duck that so looked like Jimmy Novak's fowl counterpart—asked, "What?"

Even Sam looked like he was holding in a few chuckles. Castiel asked again, "What?"

"Oh, come on, man," Dean sighed. "You're Duckstiel."

There was that same exasperated look, but instead on a duck's face. Now Sam laughed a little too.

"Yeah, you are actually, _totally_ , Duckstiel," Sam agreed.

The boys continued to laugh while Darkwing, Launchpad, Gosalyn, and Morgana looked on in confusion. The witch duck looked over at Castiel, jerking a thumb in the Winchesters' direction.

"Are they always like that?" she asked.

"Yes. Yes, they are."

It took several more moments for the boys to calm themselves, wiping away tears. Finally in control, Sam looked back and forth between Morgana and Castiel.

"So, other than _this_ ," he said, indicating Castiel's temporary vessel, "have we missed anything else?"

Morgana folded her hands together, and suddenly, all humor seemed to be sucked out of the room. "I'm afraid things have taken a teensy bit of a dire turn."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"What she means," Castiel began, "is that I can't bring you home. I don't have the power."


	7. In Which the Winchesters Meet Negaduck

**Chapter Six: In Which the Winchesters Meet Negaduck**

Dean's eyes narrowed at the angel. "What? What the hell do you mean, you can't send us home?"

"Yeah, Cas, you've literally traveled through time… and here!" Sam added.

Castiel shook his feathered head, and it was a testament to the weigh his news had carried that not even one chuckle escaped from either Winchester. Instead, they stared with hard eyes at the extra-feathered angel.

"Since waging war against my brother and his followers, my Heavenly powers are not what they once were. As it stands, with being as cut off from Heaven that I am, to send you home, body _and_ soul, would require an external power source, as it were. A powerful one," he explained.

The Winchesters visibly deflated. With a sidelong glance at Morgana, Castiel added, "I also hear you are facing an apocalypse?"

Sam let out a long sigh, nodding and running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. We're helping. At least, we're trying to."

"Hey, you exorcised that demon," Gosalyn put in. "That was pretty awesome."

Dean flashed the duckling a smile—not having to heart to clarify that they, in fact, hadn't—before Morgana sank down to the sofa. With a snap of her fingers, the book containing the list of seals literally appeared before her in a cloud of red smoke. She caught it easily before it fell to the ground, tome already open to the necessary page it seemed.

"Where the seals are concerned, that's more bad news, I'm afraid," Morgana lamented.

"Don't tell me there are archangel ducks moving this one along too?" Dean asked, whirling on Castiel, who was vehemently shaking his head.

"No," the witch stated. "It seems that I miscounted. One of the seals, once I did a bit more translating, has been previously broken. Now, with that one, the one with the Robot Devil, and the one with the floods… that brings us to only four more seals to break."

Sam's eyes, along with that of Darkwing and his group's, looked like they were going to roll right out of their heads.

"What?" the caped duck asked. "How is that even possible?"

"Been asking that question myself. _A lot_ ," Dean muttered.

" _And the garden shall consume its keeper_ ," Morgana read.

With a collective, defeated sigh, Launchpad, Darkwing, and Gosalyn said simultaneously, "Bushroot."

"Remember when you told me about him being regrown, Dark?" Morgana prompted, punctuating the statement with a knowing nod.

"What is a Bushroot?" Sam asked.

"Oh, he was a misguided scientist named Reginald Bushroot. He fell in love with another scientist that was working with him. In an effort to prove his experiment true, he turned himself in a half plant, half duck," Darkwing explained.

There was a moment where no one said anything. Finally, blinking once, Dean nodded.

"No wonder you guys didn't even blink at the idea of the apocalypse," he said.

Darkwing shrugged, continuing, "Yeah, well, a little ways down the road, he ended up getting mulched—literally—and having to regrow."

Now it was Sam nodding. "The garden shall consume its keeper… clever, in a way."

"Yeah, I've got friggin' goosebumps," Dean snapped. "Look, the way I see it, that's one more problem disguised as one less. So, let's break it down. We've got a lot to get done and not a lot of time. First problem, we have a friggin' apocalypse."

"While the seals appear to be happening in order, I still haven't had any luck translating them in time," Morgana added.

"Which means no magic to help since we don't know what we're fighting, right?" Launchpad asked.

The witch answered with a solemn nod, as Darkwing said, "And I don't know what all these seals breaking are doing to the spells Morg has already put on the city to keep the Watchers from finding Gosalyn. So, I guess that's problem, what, four?"

Dean and Sam didn't ask, and no one told. Instead, dear old Duckstiel sighed, "And I don't have the power, alone, to send you home."

"And we do _need_ to get home eventually," Sam admitted.

Finally, Gosalyn put in, "And let's not forget the missing Scythe and the still-open Hellmouth."

With a jerk of his head in Gosalyn's direction, Castiel said, "Wait, what did you say?"

She arched a brow at the angel. "A missing scythe or the part about the Hellmouth?"

A look like he was trying to do an extremely difficult math problem crossed over Castiel's face. Dean stared down his friend.

"Cas… what is it?"

His gaze snapped up and locked with Dean's. "I have to go check on something. But we may have just solved one of our problems."

Without another word of explanation, and in a flutter of invisible wings, Castiel was gone. The ducks all jumped back in surprise, but Sam and Dean remained still and unaffected. When they had recovered, Darkwing sighed. "What now?"

As if in answer, the same police scanner sounded from within his cape, he removed it, stepping away and fiddling with the volume so that he could hold it to his ear. (Did ducks have ears? The things that still managed to cross Dean's mind in a moment like this never ceased to amaze him.) Meanwhile, Sam turned his attention to rest of the group.

"Is it always this crazy here, apocalypse or no?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why do you think Dad's a hero? For fun?" Gosalyn asked.

Sam looked taken aback by the snippy response, but Dean only grinned.

"Well, ask a stupid question."

Darkwing stepped back toward the group, scanner gone and a shadow having fallen over his features. Dean fought down the urge to groan. He really, honestly, wasn't sure how much more he could handle.

"What is it, DW?" Launchpad asked.

"Negaduck. He's tearing up the part of town that isn't already torn up."

"The city is never gonna get fixed at this rate," Gosalyn muttered.

"Oh, dear," Morgana said, turning back to the ancient tome.

"I'm afraid to ask…" Darkwing moaned. Dean jerked his thumb in the duck's direction, adding, "What he said."

"The word 'evil' gets mentioned an awful lot in the list of seals… and I'm pretty sure it's in the next seal's description as well," the witch said.

"So?" Sam asked. "I mean, it's all pretty well evil, isn't it?"

"But Negaduck is the worst of the worst. If a seal that hasn't yet been broken is specifically mentioning 'evil,' it'll be him," Darkwing said.

"You have to go and deal with this. I'm still trying to contact Willow to see what help she can give. Go, stop him."

That was all it took. In the next moment, the ducks were piling out the door, and the Winchesters had no time to question the decision. Only Sam gave pause, casting a look backwards at Morgana.

"Hey, back when we were fight, um, Liquidator… the demon he was possessed by, there was something familiar about him."

"How so?" Morgana asked.

Dean held back, waiting as Sam described the creature's look while in the body and its voice. Morgana made a small "hm" noise.

"You're right. That does sound familiar, even to me. I'll look in to it. Now, go!"

With that, Sam moved to catch up with the rest of the group. They all stopped at the Ratcatcher when Darkwing finally held up a hand to his daughter.

"No. Nope. Not this time," he said, hopping on and putting on his helmet.

"Dad!" she whined. "It's _Negaduck_!"

Sam was already awkwardly clambering onboard with Launchpad following but jumping into the sidecar. How in the hell were they all gonna fit? Oh, how Dean longed for his Impala.

"That's right. It's Negaduck," Darkwing replied.

"Come on, Dad! I'm a slayer! I should be helping!"

"She did hold her own against the possessed liquid dog," Dean put in.

Two sets of eyes glared over at the eldest Winchester, who only shrugged. "I'm only saying."

Darkwing drummed his fingers on his bike before groaning. "Fine. But the moment I tell you to get back, young lady, you listen. Do you understand?"

Dean wedged in behind Sam and Darkwing, while Gosalyn leaped into Launchpad's lap, whooping gleefully as she did. Revving the engine once, they roared off into the night. A few fast turns later, the unmistakable sounds of utter chaos greeted the group. The bike came to a screeching halt in the middle of the road behind a figure that seemed to be exactly Darkwing's height, dressed in a similar fashion but only in yellow, red, and black, with their back facing the group. Also, the figure appeared to be holding a running chainsaw.

Darkwing leapt from the bike, pulling his gas gun and landing in a perfect stance.

"It's over, Negaduck!" the hero cried.

When the figured turned, Sam and Dean, both stumbling gracelessly off the Ratcatcher, stopped dead in their tracks. Except for a seemingly permanent scrunched brow, the figure before them was Darkwing's _exact_ twin. Before the duplicate to the hero they had befriended was a pile of rubble that Dean assumed had once been a building, not unlike the ones around it that remained relatively unharmed—and in much better condition than the ones they had found the Liquidator around. The destroyed building was little more than broken beams and pieces of concrete. Had this duck really done all of that with nothing but a chainsaw?

"He… he looks just like you!" Sam said.

"This is my demented doppelganger from a dimension called The Negaverse," Darkwing explained without removing his gaze from Negaduck.

"Just what we need, _another_ dimension!" Dean yelled.

In response to all of this, Negaduck let loose a low chuckle, suddenly flashing razor teeth and eerie green eyes at the group. Sam pointed.

"He's possessed!"

But before he could even attempt the exorcism, Gosalyn said, "Um… maybe not."

"What?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Launchpad added. "He's kind of always like that when he's causing trouble."

"Son of a bitch," Dean spat.

Chainsaw raised, Negaduck lunged at the group. He took a running leap, landing just in front of Launchpad. The pilot had no chance to react as Negaduck plunged an elbow into his gut, launching him backward—like a rocket—into the nearest building—about ten yards away.

"Whoa," Sam and Dean both yelled.

Darkwing whirled and fired, but Negaduck easily batted the canister with the blade of his chainsaw. Darkwing seemed a little surprised, but recovered quickly enough, running to engage his enemy. Gosalyn got to him first, aiming a fist at his face. Negaduck ducked the blow, swinging with one hand and knocking Gosalyn about as far back as he had Launchpad.

"Is he always this strong?" Sam asked.

"Not usually," Darkwing answered. Then, he directed his next remark at his advancing duplicate. "Been eating our Wheaties, have we, Negsy?"

Darkwing made some sort of karate yell, launching an assault on his evil twin. But Negaduck caught him by the wrist, easily launching him overhead. He crashed into his still unrecovered daughter and sidekick. It was then that the Mallard Menace turned his sights on the Winchesters.

"Oh, man, seriously?" Dean said.

A wide grin broke the evil duck's face. A familiar high-pitched voice spoke as Negaduck.

"Ah, another meeting, Winchesters. This is such _fun_!"

He launched himself at Sam, who just barely managed to dodge the chainsaw. The laugh that issued was just as high, but infinitely darker.

"Oh, Sammy, Sammy… Azazel had such high hopes for you. You were _the_ one. The most special of his special children," Negaduck said.

"How do you know that?" Sam asked.

Dean threw himself on the duck's back, hoping to let his obviously greater weight bring him down, but he was shrugged off just like an old afghan blanket. But Negaduck's attention left Sam, now focusing on Dean.

"And Big Brother Dean. Always so determined to save little bro. Tell me, how was Hell? I know it can get a little _hot_ depending on the time of year."

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

From behind Negaduck, Sam was muttering the exorcism right. Negaduck's head twitched unnaturally. He turned, shoving a hand out and throwing Sam back. Then, his intentions turned back to Dean.

"This body, Dean. I wish you meat-bags could know, sometimes. Maybe you would be more fun then. This body is just so… pliable. Gullible, really. He thinks I'm gonna give him power. What a dork. Well, I was going to wait until my little show was over, but I think I'll kill you now, Dean, and just leave little brother to fail—again—at stopping the apocalypse."

Dean swung at the duck, but with a flick of a finger, he was knocked to the ground. Laughing coldly, the yellow-clad duck began to bring the roaring chainsaw down toward his head. He tried to struggle, tried to roll away, but the demon held him still. All he could do was close his eyes and try to turn away.

He could feel the breeze off the moving blade when it just stopped. Dean peered through one open eye. Negaduck now looked as though he was fighting an entirely internal war.

"What are you doing?" the high voice asked.

A deep voice answered, "Nobody plays me for a patsy! Hit the road, punk!"

The high voice replied, "How _dare_ you think—!"

"I think you need to give… me… back… my… BODY!"

With that, a plume of red-black smoke exploded from Negaduck's beak. When it had vanished, he swayed a bit on his webbed feet, and—now with the demon gone—Dean scrambled to his feet. Dean looked over the dazed duck's head to see that his compatriots had all recovered and were now tensely advancing on the duck still holding the chainsaw.

Negaduck finally seemed to notice this, glancing back and up at Dean. With a scoff, he growled up at the eldest Winchester, "Fine. Consider yourself lucky, freak."

He threw down a pellet and vanished a cloud of crimson smoke with a deep laugh. Dean could only blink. In a moment, he was joined by the rest of the group, with Gosalyn staring around in wonder.

"Keen gear, Dean. If Negaduck hadn't fought that demon, you would've been…"

"A goner," he finished for her.

She nodded. Sirens in the distance abruptly broke the tense silence. Darkwing motioned toward the Ratcatcher.

"We should go. Now."


	8. In Which a Guest Star Appears

**Chapter Seven: In Which a Guest Star Appears**

"I think I've got it," Dean said as the group arrived back in Morgana's sitting room.

All eyes fell to the eldest Winchester, lit with confusion—but none more so than Morgana, who looked like she was coming in at the end of a conversation. They came to a stop in a semi-circle around Morgana, who was standing by a new addition to the room—a wooden pedestal, and upon it was an empty, perfectly clear glass spear about the size of a large bowling ball. Dean ignored the ball as Morgana was staring at him, head half tilted.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Yeah, Dean, care to let the rest of us in on this revelation?" Darkwing asked.

"Why, yes, Talking Hero Duck, I will. The demon. I think I know how he knows us." With this, he turned to Sam, adding, "Do you remember, years ago, when we were hunting Yellow Eyes, we exorcised that one demon with the crazy Judge Doom voice."

Sam let out a short, if not exasperated, chuckle. "Dean, to be fair, we hunted a _lot_ of demons back then. Hell, we hunt a lot now."

"Yeah, but how many had flashing green eyes?"

It was suddenly like the proverbial lightbulb went off over Gosalyn's head, as she made her way to stand between the two brothers. Look up, she locked eyes with Dean.

"This demon you're talking about… did he talk about having fun a lot?"

Then it was Sam's turn to have the lightbulb of comprehension flash. "Yeah! Dean, yeah, I remember now!"

But Dean ignored his brother. Instead, he nodded at Gosalyn. "Yeah, in fact, he did. He's mentioned a few times when he's talked to us here too."

At this, the duckling whirled toward her Dad, a flicker of fear crossing her features. Darkwing's brow was arched, but it seemed that Launchpad was on whatever page Gosalyn was, because his teeth were literally chattering—the only thing that the pilot was missing was the biting of his own fingernails.

"Dad… it's Paddywhack," she said, and then it was Darkwing's turn to look a bit shocked and afraid.

"It can't be… can it?" Darkwing asked.

"Paddywhack," Morgana muttered, the old book back in her hands. "Yes. Here it is. It's one of the earliest seals." She paused, reading. Then, looking a little sheepish, she added, "Um, Dark, do you remember that story you and Gosalyn told me… about the first time you met Paddywhack at the toy museum?"

"I still have nightmares," Launchpad yelped.

"Yeah… Oh, Morg. Don't tell me…" the hero moaned, tugging down on the edges of his hat.

She nodded. "Gosalyn awakening him with her prank… it was the first seal."

All eyes fell to the little red-headed girl. She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's not like I knew that and did it deliberately! How long am I gonna have to apologize for that?"

"Oh, boy," Darkwing groaned.

"It goes on to read that he will be the catalyst, the creature that will break the other seals. I suppose we all knew this in some form or another, but to put a name to a face, Paddywhack has been the one behind this all along," the witch explained.

"Like Yellow Eyes was _supposed_ to be before we killed him, back in our world," Sam nodded.

"So, we have to stop Paddywhack?" Launchpad gulped.

"Well, we've done it before," Darkwing said, obviously trying to bolster his friend.

"No, we stop the _seals_ ," Dean said. "We went that route back in our world. Take it from me, speaking from experience, there's always someone willing to stand up and finish the job. Always."

At that moment, a loud _pop_ sounded, causing everyone but Morgana to give a start, and the once empty glass ball was now filled with an orange-red flame. Morgana smiled at it.

"Morgana?" a distinctly feminine voice called out from _within_ the flame. "Morg, are you there?"

"Willow!" the ducks all said in unison.

Ah, the mysterious Willow. A talking flame inside a glass ball. Was there anything left in this crazy dimension that could surprise Dean?

"It's so good to hear from you, Willow," Morgana said, moving her gaze from the ball of flame to the Winchesters. "Now, I know you can't see them, but this is Sam and Dean Winchester, our newest visiting humans. Say hello, boys."

They exchanged a glance before both muttering an awkward, "Hey."

"My, aren't we the orators?" the flame responded.

\ "Sorry," Dean said, not really meaning it. "But we weren't really expecting to meet any talking fires today… especially not after the talking ducks, water dogs, and evil doppelgangers."

"Ah," the flame moan sympathetically. "Negaduck's still on the loose, then?"

"One problem at a time," Darkwing bemoaned.

Gosalyn chuckled at Sam and Dean's utterly lost looks. "She's not _really_ a flame, guys. She's a witch, from Buffy's dimension. Not to mention one of Buffy's friends. She was the one that was able to help get Buffy home."

"Great, any chance you can do that for us?" Dean asked the flaming ball.

"Sorry, boys. I mean, yes, there's only one Key to all the dimensions… but since it's been put into human form, we try not to use it all willy-nilly. Besides, I might accidently send you to the shrimp dimension, since I don't know, mystically, where you come from. Any idea how you got there in the first place?"

"We um… travelled though… Actually, I'm not sure what we travelled through. But at one point, it felt like we were being pulled through gelatin," Sam explained.

"Hmm…" Flame Willow said. "It sounds like someone or something actually _yanked_ you through the walls, instead of just opening a portal. Sounds like you pissed off someone really powerful."

"Look," Dean said. "I'm not even gonna pretend that I understand half of what you're talking about. But, if you can't get us home, then why did Morgana waste time contacting you? We need to be stopping the apocalypse."

"Apocalypse? Again?" Willow asked.

"Yeah," Gosalyn sighed. "Still haven't had mutant zombie apocalypse or alien slug monster apocalypse yet. This one is just trying to get Beelzebub on Earth."

"Well, just keep holding out hope, Gos… I guess," the flame responded.

"Were you able to find anything in your research, Will?" Morgana asked.

"Wait. Is she researching the apocalypse, or getting us home?" Sam asked.

Morgana wrung her hands together for a moment, staring worriedly at the glass ball. "Willow's voice in this world is tenuous, especially in this form. Instead of just being able to broadcast through my ceiling, we can move her to whatever we might need her. So, I thought it best to just work on the one problem, sending you home."

"But we can't leave yet!" Sam protested. "We have to stop the seals!"

"And there is the problem in a nutshell," Dean said. "We've been translating the seals either just as they happen, or before. We need to know the ones still to come. By my count we have… three. Three damn seals left before it's curtains. We need to translate those before anything else can happen!"

As if in response, a pair of squeaking bats, carrying a cartoonish, hairy brown spider between them entered the room from the archway in the back. "Jesus," Dean swore, jumping back into Sam.

"Those are just Morg's pets," Gosalyn said. "Eek, Squeak, and the spider's Archie."

In response, as the spider was dropped onto Morgana's shoulder, it actually grumbled, like a disgruntled old man. Dean knew in that moment that he was wrong. There were, in fact, many things in this world that could still surprise him. The bats, meanwhile, flew to the far right of the room, circling an old, boxy television that Dean had not noticed before.

"What is it?" the witch asked her pets.

One of the bats punched a foot into the power button of the TV, and the screen was instantly filled with a news shot of somewhere in St. Canard. The image showed a large, towering skyscraper that someone was painting something upon it. The painting had yet to take any form, and the camera zoomed in until finally a figure in black with unruly hair could be seen.

"That's impossible," Darkwing muttered.

"I don't think your world knows the meaning of that word, Darkwing," Dean said.

He ignored Dean's comment, saying, "That's Splatter Phoenix. She melted like a year or so ago."

"Melted?" Sam asked.

"Long, long story," Launchpad answered.

"Oh no… no one's going to like this," Morgana said, calling the tome back to her hand.

Dean held up a hand. "Hang on. Let me guess. This is a seal."

Morgana nodded, not bothering to look up. "I think so. It reads, _the fallen prophet shall rise again_. The next one mentions the prophet again, but that's as far as I've gotten in the translation."

"Hold on. I mean, Splatter Phoenix was many things… art thief, crook… okay, that might be it. But she was _definitely_ not a prophet," Darkwing argued.

"But she was gone, presumed dead. And now she's here again, painting something on that skyscraper. It's got to be what this seal means."

"And then there were two," Dean noted. "Any idea, Morg? Any at all?"

She shook her head. Darkwing crossed his arms.

"I hate to admit it, but Dean's right. We need those seals figured out, now, before it's too late. Some of us need to go deal with Splatter, and some of us need to stay here and help Morg translate. Maybe some extra eyes will help."

"I'll go," Dean said. "Sam, you stay. You're better at this type of stuff anyhow."

Sam nodded.

"I'm going," Gosalyn said.

Darkwing opened his beak to argue, when Launchpad interrupted, "I'll stay. I dunno how much help I'll be, but I know that Gos is better suited to this fight at the moment. Being the slayer that she is and all that."

He winked at the duckling, who beamed. Dean smiled. Darkwing sighed.

"Fine. Gos, Dean, and I will go. Sam and Launchpad will stay with Morg to translate. Get those seals to us ASAP," the Mighty Mallard commanded.

The sound of a throat clearing drew everyone's eyes back to Flame Willow. "Um, what should I be doing?"

"Oh, dear," Morgana said. "I thought for certain that Castiel would be back by now. He was the one that would be helping you, Willow. The angel."

Sam blinked. "Yeah. Where is Cas?"

#

Castiel, still in his more feathered form, leaned over the lip of the small chasm. It was as he had thought. This so-called portal had, indeed, been misnamed. He took a step back, glancing about the basement of the public building he was in, sighing. This portal didn't lead to Hell, as its name indicated… it led to Purgatory.

The very place that he and—unbeknownst to the Winchesters, as they thought him dead—Crowley had been searching for. The very place that had everything Castiel could ever need to win the war against Raphael. The very place that would prevent another attempt at the apocalypse that the Winchesters had sacrificed so much for to stop from re-starting. But, there was a problem. A dilemma of the greatest proportions.

Using this portal to send Sam and Dean home would use every ounce of its energy, rendering it useless. It would cease to exist. But if he absorbed its power now, returned to his noncorporeal form, and returned to Crowley, then they would have everything they would need to crack open Purgatory and retrieve the souls they needed. No more searching. No more war.

And, in that scenario, no more Winchesters.

Castiel sighed. He knew what he had to do… what the right thing to do was. In a blink, he was gone.


	9. In Which Sam Figures It Out

**Chapter Eight: In Which Sam Figures it Out**

The Ratcatcher—moving at much greater speeds, now with only three passengers, instead of the five it had previously held—came to a screeching halt across the road from the skyscraper that was becoming Splatter Phoenix's personal art project. The image she was painting was progressing, albeit slowly given its size. It started at about halfway up the skyscraper, and as it stood, was an oddly shaped crimson blob. Vaguely, it looked like it was tapered in its center, but besides that, there was no discernable feature to it.

Darkwing, Gosalyn, and Dean got off the bike, staring up at the building. Splatter Phoenix was suspended from a trolley—not unlike one a window washer would use—her back to the growing crowd of civilians and cops below. Dean looked worriedly around.

"I thought we just had to run from the boys in blue?" he said, jerking a thumb at the cops that were literally dressed in blue uniforms.

"I think we can all agree we have, _ahem_ , bigger problems," Darkwing said, his gaze looking between Dean and Splatter Phoenix.

He pulled a megaphone out from within his cape, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"This is too much," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Splatter… you're looking… better. Not at all like a puddle of paint," Darkwing called through the device.

The mass of black turned, and Dean could now make out the white of Splatter's feathers. She made some sort of weird motion with her hand, and, if the eldest Winchester wasn't mistake, a megaphone of her own appeared out of thin air. Gosalyn sighed.

"I was hoping that that wasn't _her_ paintbrush."

"Magic?" Dean asked.

Gosalyn shrugged. "Who knows anymore?"

Dean mimicked Gosalyn. "Fair enough."

"The time has come!" a rich, almost attractive feminine voice called down to them. Dean looked up to see that Splatter had moved the megaphone close to her beak. "The bourgeoisie that run this world will fall before him! The end comes! He has chosen me! He has _shown_ me!"

With that, she dropped the megaphone, turning back to her burgeoning art piece. Dean's brow furrowed as he looked over to the purple-clad duck and his daughter. Gosalyn looked confused, while Darkwing looked like the perfect mixture of confused and concerned.

"Welp… that's new," he admitted. With a sigh, he lifted his megaphone, "Splatter Phoenix… step away from the painting!"

"Nice, Dad… full of your usual bravado," Gosalyn groaned, rolling eyes.

"It's been a long day," he snipped back.

"Guys, you might wanna be paying attention," Dean said, pointing to the crazy artist.

Splatter had lowered her trolley just a bit, moving to the side of where her current work on her painting was, and began to paint something in black. With a few strokes of her brush, mounds of ink shaped like boulders—but with muscled arms and legs—were formed… and began peeling their way off of the building. Dean's eyes widened as they fell, splashing into a puddle, only to reform. She painted several of the creatures, one after another, sending them on their way.

Darkwing chuckled, pulling lightly at the collar of his turtleneck. "It's, hehe, been a while since I've bought any turpentine."

Gosalyn whirled on her father. "So you don't have _any_? You're a superhero! You're supposed to be prepared for _anything_!"

Darkwing threw his hands into the air. "I thought she was a puddle! _Splash_ —gone! It's not like I have any other paint-based enemies, Gosalyn, and this cape only holds so much!"

"So it's not like Mary Poppins' bag? That's good to know," Dean said.

One of the ink monsters had made it to Dean, who just lifted his foot—up as high as it could go—and squished it into the ground. He had a bad feeling that it wasn't going to be as simple as all that, but it bought them another moment or two. Two of the creatures moved in on Darkwing and Gosalyn, both squashing them in their own way—Gosalyn with a huge jump and stomp; Darkwing with a graceful front flip—as Dean put his attention back on the skyscraper, where Splatter was continuing her larger masterpiece.

"Guys… there's something about what she's painting on that building… I just can't put my finger on it," Dean said. "Is it starting to look like vaguely familiar to you? Cause it is me."

Darkwing moved to stand beside Dean, gazing up at the skyscraper.

"You know… now that you mention it, it does seem familiar."

They had no more time to ponder on this, as another small squadron of ink golems began to head their way. Dean started stomping, shaking off the ones that managed to get close enough to grasp at his arms. He could only hope that Sam and the rest were having better luck figuring things out than they were.

#

Launchpad nearly fell out of his seat as Castiel—still, laughably, in his duck-oriented meatsuit—appeared right next to him. Sam, thoroughly used to the angel's abrupt comings and goings, glanced up from the books he was buried in, raising a brow at him.

"What's up, Cas? Where have you been?" he asked.

He turned his featured body toward Sam, a stern look on his beaked face. "I believe I have part of the solution to bringing you and Dean home. However, it would require a specific spell. One that I don't possess."

"Oh, I've got that covered," Willow's flame said, flickering gently within its glass orb.

Castiel turned toward the orb, his brows knitted together. The flame chuckled lightly.

"All I'm missing is the juice to power it," she added.

The angel nodded once at the orb. "I have the juice."

Sam, Launchpad, and Morgana all swapped confused looks. There was a moment of silence, only minorly disturbed by the rustling of the many pages of the many books laying open at the round table Morgana had conjured for Sam and Launchpad. Willow-Flame cleared her throat.

"Um, just to be clear, I can't _see_ into this world when I'm like this. So, who exactly did I just have that exchange with?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle a moment before he answered. "It was Castiel."

"Hello," Castiel said.

"Oh, the angel? Cool. I'm Willow, by the way. A witch from yet another dimension."

"Pleasure," Castiel said, and Sam had to smother the smile forming on his face, the sentiment had been so stiffly spoken.

"Well, now that we're all acquainted," Morgana began, "Castiel, what power source are you using?"

He hesitated, just a moment, his beak opening slightly as he seemed to debate his words. Sam stared at him, confused, but before he could make mention of it, the duck-wearing angel found his voice.

"You call it a Hellmouth… but that's incorrect. It is actually a portal into Purgatory. I intend to use the power of the portal to send Sam and Dean home," he explained.

Purgatory. Sam glanced down at the books, as if this revelation was going to suddenly speed his translation. But that was a revelation more useful to them back in their own world. Sam pulled his eyes back up at the angel.

"Purgatory? Are you sure?"

He only nodded in response. Launchpad scratched his head, but remained silent, staring down at the book in front of him. Sam, encouraged, pressed the conversation further.

"Do these Hellmouths exist in our world? Maybe, when we get home, we could—"

But Castiel held up a hand, shaking his head. "No. I've looked in to it. Ours were all destroyed long ago."

"There's a lot of power in that Hellmouth," Morgana noted.

"Yeah, it sure did a doozy on the city while Buffy was here," Launchpad noted.

"Is it safe to use?" Sam asked the group at large.

"I would absorb the power just long enough to expel it into the spellcasting, sending you two home. Afterwards, the Hellmouth would cease to exist. I believe, given the circumstances, it should be perfectly safe," the angel answered.

"Hmm," Morgana mused. "Willow… how long would that spell take to set up?"

"Give or take… like an hour, I think," the flame replied.

The duck-witch nodded once. "Then you should both get started."

Sam's eyes widened. "What? Morgana, no! We haven't stopped this apocalypse yet!"

But she held up her hands plaintively. "In case we don't, then it won't be yours and Dean's problem anymore. You've done more than enough to help, and this isn't your fault. You've done nothing to trigger any breaking of seals as far as I can tell. You're just innocent bystanders. So, in an hour… you should be home."

"But—" the younger Winchester tried to argue, but Morgana crossed her arms, turning away.

"It's happening," she said.

"Well, in that case, we should probably head to the source of the power—the Hellmouth… you know, assuming I'm still in Morg's sitting room," Willow said.

"I could absorb it and just bring it here. There will still be monsters abound, especially with the impending apocalypse," Castiel offered.

"No offense, Mr. Angel, but that would be the dumbest idea ever. You could hold the power for a moment, sure. For a minute, maybe. Any longer that and you would probably go nuclear all over Morg's house. We'll just go there. Besides, flame in an orb, totally portable."

Morgana moved over to her shelves, and disappeared into the rooms beyond the sitting room, returning with a sack of items. She thrust them into Castiel's hands, as he also gently juggled the glass orb.

"Go get it set up," the duck-witch ordered.

In a flash, Castiel and Flame-Willow were gone. With that, silence returned, and Morgana took a seat at the rounded table. Only the sound of pages turning and notes being scribbled were heard. Sam thought his eyes were going to cross soon, but he knew he was at least making some headway. Most of the words in the last two seals were readable… just not in any way that was making any sense.

It went on like this for what felt like forever, glancing back and forth between books and making notes about possible translations. No one spoke. No one looked up from their resources. And, after a while, Sam was starting to feel a little paranoid. Dean hadn't called. Not that he had said he would, but… had something happened with this Splatter Phoenix?

Morgana must have been having the same thought. She stood, muttering a, "I can't take it," and turned the television on. Immediately, the local news broadcast was on, showing a small army of—what looked like—ink creatures attacking local citizens, police force, and probably Dean and the others. The three of them just stared at the report for a moment, before Launchpad finally cocked his head to the side.

"Say, does that picture on the skyscraper look familiar to you?" he asked.

Sam squinted, leaning in to the television. There was a shapely red form that made up most of the skyscraper that appeared to be the torso of a woman. A neck and hands were being added, and the way the sleeves ended on the hands… and, the decoration at the throat of the painting… Sam grabbed up the old tome that listed the seals.

"That's it!" he proclaimed. "I knew that word had to be something close! I've got it figured out."

Two sets of eyes rested on him. He read, translating as best he could.

"' _The Prophet shall reveal the face of the damned._ ' The second one is, ' _Her blood in Beelzebub's name will open the way_.' I think… I think I know why that painting is looking so familiar to us."

"'… _of the damned_ '?" Morgana questioned.

"A sacrifice, the final seal," Sam nodded.

Launchpad gulped. "Seriously?"

"There's always a sacrifice," he added solemnly. "And… I think I know who it's supposed to be."

Morgana began to question, when she suddenly gasped while Launchpad let out a cry. Their eyes were pointed somewhere behind Sam, so he jumped up, ready to turn and face any new threat. Meanwhile, Morgana was beginning a spell of some sort, and Launchpad was readying for a fight.

Something large and heavy hit Sam across the back of his head, and his vision blurred as he slammed back down toward the floor—sliding gracelessly off the table and pulling a few books with him as he went. He heard Launchpad give a frightened yelp that was cut short, and Morgana's spell brought to a premature end as Sam's world went black.


	10. In Which Big Trouble Brews

**Chapter Nine: In Which Big Trouble is Brewed**

The amount of ink blob golems had all but tripled, and they had learned to merge with one another, thus amplifying their otherwise non-existent power—unless annoyance counted as a power. From their place across the road from the skyscraper—on which Splatter Phoenix was still painting her masterpiece, the group collectively assumed since no one had had time to actually _look_ —a mass of several ink golems had merged to form a giant hand, which was currently shaking Darkwing to and fro like a rag doll.

"I-I-I n-n-ee-ee-ee-d some tur-pen-tine!" Darkwing yelled over the ruckus around him.

Cops shot fruitlessly at the blobs, sending them splattering only to have them reform. Several officers were swarmed, and Dean and Gosalyn were getting tired of stomping, quick. Gosalyn rolled her eyes at her father.

"Not my fault that the most prepared superhero I know _wasn't prepared_!"

Dean brought a boot down on a cluster of golems before they could form into anything larger. He sighed. He had been on a lot of hunts in his time, but this, easily, was turning out to be the most physically exhausting one. Darkwing managed to wedge a hand free, and with weapon in hand, blasted the giant hand that held him apart. He landed with a _squish_ in a puddle of ink just as the loud sound of cackling filled the air.

Collectively, the blobs stopped. They shuddered in place for a moment, before all collapsing into a small flood of ink. Then, as one, they slithered to the skyscraper, absorbing themselves into the now complete painting upon it. Dean, Darkwing, and Gosalyn's eyes followed the wave, travelling up beyond their collision point to the ginormous painting before them. Splatter was cackling to the point of bending slightly backwards. She righted herself in time to point down at the city before.

With a gasp, the group watched as the giant painting of Morgana Macawber peeled itself off the building and into life. Her eyes glowed a green that they did not in the real witch. Her fingers curled skywards, a loud laugh filling the night like a sonic boom.

"Morg?" Gosalyn muttered. "But…"

"What the hell? What the actual hell?" Dean asked, turning to see Darkwing digging out his cell phone.

"Hopefully Sam, LP, and the _real_ Morgana have some answers for us," he said, dialing the phone as the giant took its first destructive step toward St. Canard's finest.

#

Sam's entire world hurt, and, after what only seemed like a few moments, it began to shake. Following that, it spoke his name. It took another couple of minutes before he realized it was Launchpad's voice he was hearing as the aviator was trying to shake him awake. With a snap, his eyes popped open.

"Morg's gone! Paddywhack took her!" Launchpad said as Sam was already climbing to his feet.

Not good. Not good at all. Sam wobbled on his legs, leaning on the table—still filled with books and papers and translations.

"We have to get her back. Now!" Sam said, turning toward Launchpad.

The duck gave a start, but quickly nodded. "Well, yeah, but—"

"No!" Sam insisted. "You don't understand!"

The sound of a phone ringing jarred him, setting his teeth on edge and making his head throb more. But he turned toward the noise, logic telling him that this was probably a call he needed to take. He found Morgana's disregarded mobile in the center of table, and read the caller's ID as "Dark Darling" with a little heart emoji by it. He all but lunged at the phone, answering it.

"Morgana's the final seal, and Paddywhack has her!" he said, by way of greeting.

"What?" Darkwing squeaked.

A small beep on the other end of the line probably indicated that Darkwing had put him on speaker. A sudden cacophony of noise confirmed it.

"The painting, Splatter's painting! It's Morgana, isn't it?" Sam yelled into the phone.

"And it's alive, Sammy! It's freaking pulling a Stay Puft over here!" Dean's voice shouted back.

"What do you mean, she's the final seal?" Darkwing asked.

Sam swallowed, hard, his throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper. "The translation, the last seal is a sacrifice. The seal before is what you're dealing with now, _the fallen prophet shall reveal the face of the damned_. They intend to sacrifice her to release Beelzebub!"

"Always a sacrifice," he barely heard Dean say.

"Y-you have to save her!" Darkwing said.

Sam nodded. "LP and I are on it. You three deal with giant Morg. The only problem is, I don't know where Morgana is. Paddywhack took her."

"It'd be a place of enormous power… the Hellmouth!" Gosalyn yelled.

He imagined that all eyes on the other end of the phone were now falling to the redheaded duckling. Sam's brow furrowed.

"How do you know that?"

"It's the most magically powerful place in town. Morgana told me so some time ago!"

"Hey, isn't that where the angel and Willow went?" Launchpad asked.

A fog was clearing on Sam's brain, but not fast enough. But Launchpad's words hit him like a brick. That would be either very good for them, or very bad.

"Deal with the giant. We'll get Morgana. Just… get to the Hellmouth ASAP after, okay?" Sam said.

"Got it," Darkwing, Dean, and Gosalyn said in unison as the line disconnected. Sam ran to the shelf of mystical doohickeys and grabbed anything resembling a weapon.

"Lead the way," he said, and they were off.

Maybe, if they were lucky, Cas at least could hold Paddywhack off. But…

When were the Winchesters ever lucky?

#

It was dank and dusty at the edge of the Hellmouth, not at all what would be expected if one were going by the name alone. It was relatively dark in the subbasement of the school, the only light given by a hanging electric light that, funnily enough, hung directly over the center of the open Hellmouth and the light given off by the flame that held Willow's voice.

The globe of flame was a little more than a foot away from Castiel, resting gently on the ground. In between him and the glass was a small leather mat, written on with a piece of white chalk. Several symbols had been drawn on the mat, and a bundle of carefully chosen dried herbs lay in the center of symbols. All of which had been assembled with Willow's careful instruction. The witch had also discovered that if she put enough energy into it, she could force her flame to make the shape of any given symbol, but only for a millisecond. If Castiel had not been a celestial being, he would not have caught it.

"Almost finished. Just a quick travel blessing for the general area, and then all you have to do is carry your friends home," Willow-flame said.

A shadow fell over the angel and the globe before Castiel could reply, and a high, shrill voice spoke, "Company? I didn't ask for company! No, no!"

Castiel whirled toward the figure. A simple, dark haired duck with a short beak, and an even shorter stature stood before them, cradling an unconscious Morgana. But, given his heavenly status, Castiel could see beyond the meatsuit to the creature's true form—a large, looming figure that looked like a clown but with the black and white coloring of a mime and eyes that glowed with a sickly green color.

"Give her to me!" Castiel demanded, striding forth to fight the demon.

Making the motion of flicking a bug away, Paddywhack sent Castiel flying back against a far wall with a, "Nope!"

The angel slid down the wall, unconscious. Paddywhack chuckled. "He bit off more than he could chew, I think."

"This doesn't sound good," Willow muttered from her flame. "What's—"

But with a simple snap of his fingers, her flame extinguished. He giggled as he made his way over to the incomplete transport spell, kicking all the items over into the Hellmouth, save for the piece of chalk. Gingerly, he sat down Morgana. He picked up the chalk, made his way over to Castiel, and drew a handful of Enochian sigils on his tan overcoat. When he finished, he turned, tossing the chalk aside, muttering, "Pesky angels."

Then, stalking over to the still unconscious Morgana—who lay beside the clear, clean glass globe that had once held the voice of yet another powerful witch—he squealed, clapping his hands together.

"Let's get ready to have some real _fun_."


	11. In Which Witches Are a Precious Commodit

**Chapter Ten: In Which Witches are a Precious Commodity**

"O-kay," Darkwing drawled. His eyes were glued on the giant, painted version of his girlfriend, as were Dean's and Gosalyn's.

After a moment and nothing else following this initial statement—and not to mention just idly standing while there were cops, buildings, and cars getting crushed by the giant witch—Gosalyn finally shot her father an irritated look.

"What? What do we do?" she demanded.

Across the way, standing now firmly on the ground, Splatter Phoenix was still cackling madly. Only now she was adding various monstrous "abstract" creatures to the fray. As soon as they were painted, they sprang to life, roaring if they had an orifice that could make noise, and rushing in behind the painted witch to cause as much added destruction as possible. They varied in size and color, but not in ferocity. Gosalyn yanked at her pigtails.

"Dad! We've got to _do_ something!"

Darkwing was casting his gaze about, and Dean recognized that look. He was looking somewhere—anywhere—for a plan. Finally, however, after glancing a block or so behind them, Darkwing snapped his fingers.

"Got it! Dean, Gos, you two need to get Splatter's brush away from her and trap her. I'll deal with this Fake Morgana. Then, we get to that Hellmouth."

"Uhh, any specifics on that, Talking Hero Duck?" Dean asked.

"You two do your part any way you can. As for me… I think I've found my weapon," he said, jerking a thumb backwards.

Gosalyn's and Dean's followed the motion, landing on a closed shop front that announced itself as Suzy's Art Supplies. The two nodded.

"We're on it," Gosalyn said, already heading for Splatter Phoenix.

Dean nodded, starting off after the duckling, before Darkwing called him to a stop.

"Dean! Um, keep an eye on her, will ya?" he asked.

"Of course," Dean answered, turning to find the redhead engaged in a battle with a squat orange square about her height. She splattered it easily as Dean jogged to catch up. He glanced behind just in time to see Darkwing running and whistling, trying and succeeding to get Giant Paint Morg's attention. The huge painting was already following him away from the cops, and Dean had to duck a blow from a blob of purple paint that was only a bit taller than he was. He followed it up with a strong right hook, his fist going right through the paint. He grimaced, but moved on, careful to keep his eyes on the bright hair bobbing in front of him.

He knew he wouldn't have the time to punch-out every single crazy paint monster that made its way toward him. So, he ducked, dodged, and weaved like he was playing some kind of game, eyes locked on Gosalyn. For her part, the duckling was tearing through these things like they were nothing. Maybe there was something to this slayer thing after all.

Splatter was noticing them coming closer, and her paintings were growing in volume… but not in anything else. If anything, due to the frequency of their creation, they were getting smaller and weaker. The last couple Dean encountered he had simply been able to squish like the earlier ink golems.

Gosalyn reached Splatter Phoenix first, and the villainess stopped the girl's incoming blow by painting a metal bar between the two of them, just large enough to catch Gosalyn's fist. She cried out, rubbing her hand, and Phoenix was already moving toward her, paint brush ready to dish out something else. Gosalyn rolled out from underneath her looming figure, kicking out at her feet. Splatter started to fall, just catching herself. Whirling, she was getting ready to fire back at Gosalyn…

But was met with Dean's waiting fist. An actual cuckoo noise sounded as Splatter Phoenix crumpled to the ground, her paintbrush rolling from her grip. Gosalyn snatched it up quickly, using it to paint an iron-barred cage around the paint-crazed villain. When she was done, she looked at Dean, eyes wide.

"What?" he asked.

"You actually _hit_ her," she said.

Dean stared at her, confused, when it finally clicked. Finally, he shrugged.

"I'm not normally in the habit of hitting women, kid, but sometimes it's eat or be eaten, got me?"

She nodded, an odd look passing over her eyes. It didn't seem to be disgust, but Dean couldn't really put a name to it. For some reason, that look in her green eyes seemed to put a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. A sound like glass and brick crashing drew both of their attentions.

Giant Paint Morg—and Darkwing, they collectively assumed—had finally reached the art supply store. Gone was the mysterious look from Gosalyn's eyes, replaced with a look that Dean was more than familiar with—concern for a loved one.

"Let's go!" she shouted, not bothering to see if Dean followed after her—which he did.

With the paintbrush out of commission, thus stopping the flow of new creatures, the cops were starting to bounce back, and the crowd of abstracts was thinning, making the run around the corner to the store easier than it would have been a few moments ago.

Giant Paint Morg had torn the roof clean off, and was now glaring down inside of the store. Her red-dress covered lower half covered the conventional entrance, and Dean had to pull Gosalyn to a stop several feet from the store. She glared up at the hunter.

"Dad's in there!" she protested.

"He had a plan, Gos. We don't, though. We can't just hope that we can duck and weave around her. Once she spotted us, she'd squish us like bugs," Dean reasoned.

A roar—this time of agony, instead of rage—came from the paint giant. Gosalyn and Dean turned, watching as it appeared that the painting's lower half was melting away. Gosalyn joyfully punched at the air.

"Dad found turpentine!" she cried out.

A small wave of paint was washing toward them, and Dean picked up Gosalyn, trying to keep her from touching the stuff. Maybe he needed to follow his own advice in the matter, but the forming ink river would have knocked the girl off her webbed feet, he was sure. After all, he had told Darkwing he would keep an eye on her.

Screaming in agony, the two watched as the giant painting continued to melt down into nothingness, clawing fruitlessly at the night sky. It took much less time than Dean would have guessed before finally the tips of her white paint fingers dissolved away, followed by cheers from the crowd behind them.

Victorious, and tugging his purple fedora down over his head, Darkwing emerged from the storefront.

"Let's go get Morg," he said.

With that, they found the Ratcatcher in the chaos—miraculously unharmed—and made their way to St. Canard P. S. 4.

"It _used_ to be my school," Gosalyn noted as they pulled up in front of a pretty standard, single-level school—creepy because it was shut down, being that it was the middle of the night.

"Used to?" Dean asked, dismounting the bike.

Gosalyn hopped down after him. "Dad transferred me after Buffy left."

"Well, would _you_ leave your kid in a school with a Hellmouth under it?" the hero asked indignantly.

In the distance, coming from the other direction, Dean saw the unmistakable, giant-in-his-own-way form of his brother, trailed by Launchpad, heading toward them. The elder Winchester shrugged.

"Can't say as I blame you there," he said, when Sam and Launchpad finally met with them.

"I grabbed anything I thought could be useful," Sam said, holding up a sack full of items that rustled and clinked together as he did so.

"I have no idea on how to use any of those," Darkwing said.

"I—" Gosalyn began, but her father cut her off, "Neither does she. Don't let her fool you."

"Cas and Globe Willow are in here too," Sam said.

"They went ahead to do the spell to end Sam and Dean home," Launchpad put in. "Morg's orders."

"It _was_ a good plan, until…" Darkwing noted.

"Speaking of, do we have one of those?" Gosalyn asked.

"Not that I've heard," Dean answered.

Darkwing's eyes narrowed on the school's entrance. "We do this quietly. What we lack in arms, we'll make up with stealth and the element of surprise."

The rest nodded. Sam laid the bag of borrowed magical items on the seat of the Ratcatcher, seeing as it was useless without someone—Morgana or even Willow—to instruct them on how to use it all properly. After that, the group followed Darkwing's lead, moving quietly across the lush lawn of the school and through the already open double doors at the entrance.

Their shoes squeaked, but not too loudly, on the polished floors as they moved through the halls, pass rows of lockers and closed, wooden classroom doors. They didn't pause until they reached a door clearly marked "Basement—Employees Only." Three of them huddled on one side of the door, while the other two moved to the other. Darkwing motioned once, yanking open the door and hurrying inside. The other four quickly followed.

It was dark in the stairwell, but not as inky black as Dean had been expecting. A light was glowing in the distance, turning some of the darkness into mere shadows. Chanting in a high, creepy voice was lilting its way down the dark corridor toward the group. A sense of urgency settling in on them, yet their steps slowed. Darkwing had been right, after all. All they had was their stealth, their unexpectedness.

They stopped at the doorway to the room the light was coming from, which, from Dean's quick glance, looked like had exposed ground as flooring with a pit in the center. Gosalyn, Darkwing, and Launchpad huddled to the left of the doors, Sam and Dean to the right. Dean dared another glance, this time seeing the unconscious form of Duckstiel, Morgana, and a flame-less glass globe. Things were not looking good.

"I guess that's Paddywhack now. He sure looks different than the last time we faced him," Launchpad whispered.

"He must be possessing someone," Darkwing answered.

"If he kills Morgana, it's all over. The apocalypse _will_ start," Sam stated.

"That's not going to happen. I'm not losing anyone else," Darkwing answered, not without a hint of determination.

"So… how do we kill him?" Dean asked.

Certainly not in answer to his question, Dean—along with the others—were suddenly compelled forward until they were completely in the open—lined up, left to right as Darkwing, Launchpad, Gosalyn, Dean, and then Sam—and then rooted to the spot. Dean tried to reach forward, as if he could snatch Paddywhack before he turned to see them, but he soon found that his arms were frozen in place too.

"Winchesters, Winchesters, _Winchesters_ ," Paddywhack said, turning to glare them down with acid green eyes. "Always trying to ruin my _fun_ aren't you?"

"Guess we have different definitions there, buddy," Dean quipped.

"I _tried_ to be a part of your world's apocalypse. Tried to be there when Yellow Eyes succeeded. When Lucifer rose. But was I?"

He paused, just long enough to make everyone uncomfortable, before he finally screeched, "No! No, I _wasn't_ there, because of _you_!"

"Well, to keep you updated, we stopped it and popped Lucifer back into his box. Oh, and Yellow Eyes? Totally killed him," Dean said.

"Oh, I'm aware," Paddywhack snarled. "You are still not grasping this point though, Dean-o. I was having _fun_. And you, and widdle Sammy here, _ruined it_! So, naturally, I thought, why not have an apocalypse in a different dimension and just extend an invitation? So, now you and your little hero friends will have front row seats to the best—and last—show this world has ever seen!"

With that, he turned away, continuing his chant. Now, though, a small dagger had appeared. Dean could see Darkwing struggling as Paddywhack was leaning over Morgana.

"You won't get away with this, you demented demon!" Darkwing said.

The demon ignored the caped crusader, instead slicing delicate cuts into Morgana's arms and stomach, through her dress. On his left, Gosalyn let out a small gasp.

"I know this. Dawn, Buffy's sister, had this done to her when a goddess was trying to open up a Hell dimension," Gosalyn explained.

Dean continued to struggle, a kind of PTSD washing over him as he remembered seeing Lilith die, helping Sam kill Ruby, and watching as the cage began to open. He cast his gaze about, trying to think of something, anything, that could get them out of this mess. Immediately, his eyes fell on Cas's slumbering form. He could vaguely make out some shapes drawn on his coat that seemed to be Enochian. Well, that explained why Cas was still out of commission.

"Um, Gos, sweetie, what was the endgame of that goddess's spell?" Darkwing asked.

"They had to bleed Dawn dry to open a portal. And the portal would only stop when the blood did," the duckling explained.

"Hoo boy," Launchpad groaned.

On his other side, Sam was muttering something under his breath, and it sounded like the exorcism spell. Paddywhack stopped his own chanting, sighing.

"Oh, Sammy, that old hat?" he said, snapping his fingers.

Sam went silent, and Dean looked desperately to his brother. He looked fine, but as soon as he started to try and talk, it was like he couldn't get his tongue to move. This was beginning to look really bad.

As Paddywhack continued to chant over the bleeding Morgana, a hellish roar, followed by a deep red light began to leak through the pit that contained the Hellmouth. Darkwing, his hand inching slowly, so slowly, toward his cape, gulped.

"That… does not… sound good," he muttered.

"Cas is our only chance to kill this guy," Dean whispered at Gosalyn. "We don't have any weapon between us capable of it. If we get free, you need to get over there and get those symbols off him."

It was an important task, and one that Dean hoped would keep the duckling relatively safe. After all, one way or another, this was about to get ugly. Gosalyn nodded in response. At the far end of the line, Darkwing's hand was getting closer and closer, unbeknownst to Paddywhack, who chanted away, unconcerned. Within agonizing minutes, Dean saw what Darkwing was reaching for—his gas gun. He steeled himself, as did Sam, knowing they were about to get their only chance of stopping this.

Darkwing finally reached his goal, pulling his gas gun free. Then, rather unceremoniously, he lobbed it at the demon. But it did the trick. As soon as it struck Paddywhack in the head, he lost his concentration and the group was free to move. Everyone went into action. Dean, Sam, and Darkwing descended upon the demon, throwing blow after blow at him, anything to keep him off his game. Gosalyn ducked around the fight, rushing to Castiel just as Dean had asked her. And Launchpad jumped behind the fight, grabbing up the glass globe and Morgana's now groaning form and dragging them both to a safe distance.

Gosalyn's frantic wiping at the marks on Castiel's coat was just barely audible over the sound of the blows being landed on Paddywhack's form, relentlessly, driving him backward, toward the now abundant hellish red light spilling up from the Hellmouth. And then, like the proverbial lightbulb, it hit Dean.

They _did_ have a way to end this without a weapon. Together, he, Sam, and Darkwing continued their push until Paddywhack's heels were on the edge of the opening cage. The demon threw his arms out, swinging and twirling them wildly. With a leap into the air, Darkwing landed the last blow right in the center of his chest, shoving him over… and into Beelzebub's cage.

He screeched all the way down, until that noise was drowned out by growling and a deep laugh. To the groups right, Gosalyn gave a small cry as Castiel's eyes flew open. She must have destroyed enough of the symbol. He stood, making his way past the duckling and to the group.

"The cage is still open!" Sam shouted over the torrent of sounds coming the cage.

"No," Castiel said, moving past them to Morgana's still sleeping form. "It's not open fully until no more blood flows."

"How do we fix that?" Darkwing yelled, tugging his hat.

"That solution is the easiest," Castiel said, reaching down and placing two fingers on Morgana's forehead.

Right before their eyes, the cuts healed. A roar of "No!" sounded from within the cage as the light spilling from it vanished. For a moment, all was still. Then, groaning, Morgana opened her eyes. She glanced around at the group, obviously confused.

"What did I miss?"

#

An hour later, a different spell was set up at the lip of the Hellmouth. Morgana, after just a moment of resting, had been able to summon back Willow—in flame form—and she and Gosalyn had explained what had happened while Sam had gone and collected the bag of magical supplies from the Ratcatcher. As luck would have it, he had gathered everything—and then some—to recreate the spell necessary to send him and Dean home. So, the group had sat and stood around while Willow and Castiel worked the spell. Finally, though, an hour later, Flame-Willow proudly announced, "It's done."

Dean and Sam moved toward Castiel, who was moments away from absorbing all the power of the Hellmouth all to spend it in a flash to send them home. Darkwing and his group stood together.

"Good luck," the masked duck said.

"Thanks…. Darkwing," Dean said.

The hero beamed at him.

"Also, you know… Gosalyn is quite capable. Maybe you shouldn't be so hard on her? She did, after all, survive an attempted apocalypse," Dean added.

Gosalyn smiled at Dean, then directed a clear "told you so" look at her father, who sighed.

"I'll try and keep that in mind," the hero said.

Morgana stepped forward, pressing a piece of paper into Sam's hand.

"It's the spell for something we call The Black Room," she explained. "If you ever need to talk to me or to Willow, you can use it."

"Thanks," Same said, securing it in a pocket of his jacket. "I'm sure we'll be using it soon enough."

"It's time," Castiel said.

The boys nodded, and a few last minute hasty good-byes were said as Castiel turned to the Hellmouth. He took in a deep breath, bringing with it a glowing light that entered his vessel. Then, turning, he placed a hand on each Winchester.

It happened in just a flash, a burst of energy, and a blink. One moment, they were in St. Canard in the basement of a school, and in the next, they were in Bobby's scrapyard, and the sun was beginning to rise.

"You did it!" Sam said, clapping the angel—now back in his human vessel—on the back.

He nodded, and together, the three of them entered the house through the back door. Then ended up in the kitchen, where Bobby stood with his back to the boys, yelling into a phone.

"I don't give a damn! I want to know where they're at, now!" he said, turning.

He nearly dropped the phone. But, after a moment, the old hunter recovered, saying into the receiver, "You know what? Never mind. They're right friggin' here!"

He slammed the phone down on its cradle, crossing the small space between him and the boys, shoving a finger in their faces.

"Where in the hell have you three idijits been? You've been missing for damn near twenty-four hours!"

"We've gone longer without contact," Sam said.

Bobby fixed him with a glare that kept him from making any other remarks.

"We had an agreed check in, and you two missed it! Where _were_ you?"

Sam, Dean, and Castiel exchanged a quick glance. Finally, Dean shrugged.

"Okay. Here it goes."

And he told Bobby the truth. The whole, crazy truth. Parallel dimension, talking ducks, slayers, another apocalypse, the whole thing. Finally, at the end, there was a moment of silence. Then, Bobby nodded once.

"I've only got one question for you after that," he said.

"Okay," Sam said.

"How _exactly_ did you get the _angel_ to drop acid?"

 _fin_


End file.
